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Ah, the poverty, the miserable poverty, of any love that lies outside of marriage, of any love that is not a living together, a sharing of all!

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
Lies
Outside
Poverty
Marriage
Lying
Living
Together
Sharing
Love
Miserable

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True originality consists not in a new manner but in a new vision.
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They belonged to that vast group of human automata who go through life without neglecting to perform a single one of the gestures executed by the surrounding puppets.
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There are lots of ways of being miserable, but there's only one way of being comfortable, and that is to stop running round after happiness. If you make up your mind not to be happy there's no reason why you shouldn't have a fairly good time.
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Poetry and art are the breath of life to her.
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Once more it was borne in on him that marriage was not the safe anchorage he had been taught to think, but a voyage on uncharted seas.
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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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... 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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... there are spines to which the immobility of worship is not a strain.
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Life is always either a tight -rope or a feather-bed . — Give me the tightrope.
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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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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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It frightened him to think what must have gone to the making of her eyes.
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What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude, but compassion holding its breath.
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Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.
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She wondered if, when human souls try to get too near each other, they do not inevitably become mere blurs to each other's vision.
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Life's just a perpetual piecing together of broken bits.
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Life has a way of overgrowing its achievements as well as its ruins.
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traditions that have lost their meaning are the hardest of all to destroy.
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People struggled on for years with 'troubles,' but they almost always succumbed to 'complications.
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