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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
Think
Pans
Thinking
Pots
Life
Brushes
Pot
Damn
Words
Wish
Pails
Didn
Scrubbing
More quotes by Edith Wharton
Don't you ever mind, she asked suddenly, not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?
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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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The only thing to do is to hug one's friends tight and do one's job.
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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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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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there are lots of ways of answering a letter - and writing doesn't happen to be mine.
Edith Wharton
Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.
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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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It was amusement enough to be with a group of fearless and talkative girls, who said new things in a new language, who were ignorant of tradition and unimpressed by distinctions of rank but it was soon clear that their young hostesses must be treated with the same respect, if not with the same ceremony as English girls of good family.
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The difference is that these young people take it for granted that they're going to get whatever they want, and that we almost always took it for granted that we shouldn't. Only, I wonder—the thing one's so certain of in advance: can it ever make one's heart beat as wildly?
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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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In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.
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Habit is necessary. It is the habit of having habits, of turning a trail into a rut, that must be incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive ... one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in the big things, and happy in small ways.
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... naturalness is not always consonant with taste.
Edith Wharton
[B]ut he had lived in a world in which, as he said, no one who loved ideas need hunger mentally.
Edith Wharton
In the summer New York was the only place in which one could escape from New Yorkers.
Edith Wharton
... caprice is as ruinous as routine.
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I can't love you unless I give you up.
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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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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
