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The early mist had vanished and the fields lay like a silver shield under the sun. It was one of the days when the glitter of winter shines through a pale haze of spring.
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
Days
Silver
Springtime
Like
Lays
Shield
Shining
Glitter
Winter
Shields
Sun
Shines
Spring
Mist
Fields
April
Haze
Early
Pale
Vanished
More quotes by Edith Wharton
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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What a shame it is for a nation to be developing without a sense of beauty, and eating bananas for breakfast.
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Her mind was an hotel where facts came and went like transient lodgers, without leaving their address behind, and frequently without paying for their board.
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traditions that have lost their meaning are the hardest of all to destroy.
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... there are spines to which the immobility of worship is not a strain.
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Life is the only real counselor wisdom unfiltered through personal experience does not become a part of the moral tissue.
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In the rotation of crops there was a recognized season for wild oats but they were not sown more than once.
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Most timidities have such secret compensations and Miss Bart was discerning enough to know that the inner vanity is generally in proportion to the outer self depreciation.
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Until the raw ingredients of a pudding make a pudding, I shall never believe that the raw material of sensation and thought can make a work of art without the cook's intervening.
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I have never known a novel that was good enough to be good in spite of its being adapted to the author's political views.
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Her vivid smile was like a light held up to dazzle me.
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She gave so many reasons that I've forgotten them all.
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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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Archer reddened to the temples but dared not move or speak: it was as if her words had been some rare butterfly that the least motion might drive off on startled wings, but that might gather a flock if it were left undisturbed.
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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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She seemed to melt against him in her terror, and he caught her in his arms, held her fast there, felt her lashes beat his cheek like netted butterflies.
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Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.
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I swear I only want to hear about you, to know what you've been doing. It's a hundred years since we've met-it may be another hundred before we meet again.
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It frightened him to think what must have gone to the making of her eyes.
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... naturalness is not always consonant with taste.
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