Quote

Damn words they're just the pots and pans of life, the pails and scrubbing-brushes. I wish I didn't have to think in words.

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
Wish
Pails
Didn
Scrubbing
Think
Pans
Thinking
Pots
Life
Brushes
Pot
Damn
Words

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The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!
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I can't love you unless I give you up.
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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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True originality consists not in a new manner but in a new vision. That new, that personal, vision is attained only by looking long enough at the object represented to make it the writer's own and the mind which would bring this secret gem to fruition must be able to nourish it with an accumulated wealth of knowledge and experience.
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There was no use in trying to emancipate a wife who had not the dimmest notion that she was not free.
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I don't know that I should care for a man who made life easy I should want some one who made it interesting.
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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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Any rapidly enacted episode. . .should be seen through only one pair of eyes.
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I was never allowed to read the popular American children's books of my day because, as my mother said, the children spoke bad English without the author's knowing it.
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Yes, you have been away a very long time.' 'Oh, centuries and centuries so long,' she said, 'that I'm sure I'm dead and buried and this dear old place is heaven.
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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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Dialogue in fiction should be reserved for the culminating moments and regarded as the spray into which the great wave of narrative breaks in curving towards the watcher on the shore.
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A New York divorce is in itself a diploma of virtue.
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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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In all the arts abundance seems to be one of the surest signs of vocation.
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One of the great things about travel is you find out how many good, kind people there are.
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And all the while, I suppose, he thought, real people were living somewhere, and real things happening to them.
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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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There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
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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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