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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.
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
Dialogue
Watcher
Wave
Watchers
Towards
Spray
Fiction
Reserved
Break
Regarded
Moments
Breaks
Great
Shore
Curving
Narrative
Culminating
More quotes by Edith Wharton
I can't love you unless I give you up.
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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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After all, one knows one's weak points so well, that it's rather bewildering to have the critics overlook them and invent others.
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Life is always either a tight -rope or a feather-bed . — Give me the tightrope.
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They are all alike you know. They hold their tongues for years and you think you're safe, but when the opportunity comes they remember everything.
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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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... 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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The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing.
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Everything may be labelled- but everybody is not.
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He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.
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Women ought to be free - as free as we are,' he declared, making a discovery of which he was too irritated to measure the terrific consequences.
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And he felt himself oppressed by this creation of factitious purity, so cunningly manufactured by a conspiracy of mothers and aunts and grandmothers and long-dead ancestresses, because it was supposed to be what he wanted, what he had a right to, in order that he might exercise his lordly pleasure in smashing it like an image made of snow.
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Life's just a perpetual piecing together of broken bits.
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Poetry and art are the breath of life to her.
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The true felicity of a lover of books is the luxurious turning of page by page, the surrender, not meanly abject, but deliberate and cautious, with your wits about you, as you deliver yourself into the keeping of the book. This I call reading.
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Any rapidly enacted episode. . .should be seen through only one pair of eyes.
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It was easy enough to despise the world, but decidedly difficult to find any other habitable region.
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In any really good subject, one has only to probe deep enough to come to tears.
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But marriage is one long sacrifice.... Chapter 21, Medora Manson speaking to Newland Archer
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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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