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The taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth, and there were moments when he felt as if he were being buried alive under his future.
Edith Wharton
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Edith Wharton
Age: 75 †
Born: 1862
Born: January 24
Died: 1937
Died: August 11
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Translator
Writer
New York City
New York
Edith Newbold Jones
Edith Newbold Jones Wharton
Future
Felt
Cinders
Moments
Usual
Like
Buried
Mouth
Mouths
Taste
Alive
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It was harder to drown at sunrise than in darkness.
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In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.
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It seems stupid to have discovered America only to make it into a copy of another country.
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In the summer New York was the only place in which one could escape from New Yorkers.
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[I]t's safer to be fond of dangerous people.
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I discovered early that crying makes my nose red, and the knowledge has helped me through several painful episodes.
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The visible world is a daily miracle, for those who have eyes and ears.
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I have drunk of the wine of life at last, I have known the thing best worth knowing, I have been warmed through and through, never to grow quite cold again till the end.
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Each time you happen to me all over again.
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In a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles and Orion flashed his cold fires.
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The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!
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Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.
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Don't you ever mind, she asked suddenly, not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?
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Think what stupid things the people must have done with their money who say they're 'happier without'.
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Another unsettling element in modern art is that common symptom of immaturity, the dread of doing what has been done before.
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Once more it was borne in on him that marriage was not the safe anchorage he had been taught to think, but a voyage on uncharted seas.
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Her failure was a useful preliminary to success.
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She was very near hating him now yet the sound of his voice, the way the light fell on his thin, dark hair, the way he sat and moved and wore his clothes—she was conscious that even these trivial things were inwoven with her deepest life.
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... even in houses commonly held to be 'booky' one finds, nine times out of ten, not a library but a book-dump.
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One of the first obligations of art is to make all useful things beautiful.
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