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For what endless years this life will have to go on! He felt, with a kind of horror, his own strong youth and the bounding blood in his veins.

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
Strong
Bounding
Felt
Existential
Kind
Veins
Years
Endless
Life
Horror
Crisis
Youth
Blood

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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.
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Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.
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The effect produced by a short story depends almost entirely on its form.
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If only we'd stop trying to be happy, we could have a pretty good time.
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Don't they always go from bad to worse? There's no turning back--your old self rejects you, and shuts you out. ~Lilly Bart
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But after a moment a sense of waste and ruin overcame him. There they were, close together and safe and shut in yet so chained to their separate destinies that they might as well been half the world apart.
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It was the old New York way...the way people who dreaded scandal more than disease, who placed decency above courage, and who considered that nothing was more ill-bred than scenes, except those who gave rise to them.
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If proportion is the good breeding of architecture, symmetry, or the answering of one part to another, may be defined as the sanity of decoration.
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It must be less wicked to love the wrong person than not to love anybody at all.
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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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An unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences.
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Almost everybody in the neighborhood had troubles, frankly localized and specified but only the chosen had complications. To have them was in itself a distinction, though it was also, in most cases, a death warrant. People struggled on for years wit
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... caprice is as ruinous as routine.
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It was harder to drown at sunrise than in darkness.
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... naturalness is not always consonant with taste.
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People struggled on for years with 'troubles,' but they almost always succumbed to 'complications.
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In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.
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...and wondering where he had read that clever liars give details, but that the cleverest do not.
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