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... how I understand that love of living, of being in this wonderful, astounding world even if one can look at it only through theprison bars of illness and suffering! Plus je vois, the more I am thrilled by the spectacle.
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
Love
Wonderful
World
Suffering
Astounding
Pain
Thrilled
Understand
Spectacle
Living
Plus
Look
Bars
Looks
Illness
Even
Joy
More quotes by Edith Wharton
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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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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Another unsettling element in modern art is that common symptom of immaturity, the dread of doing what has been done before.
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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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The worst of doing one's duty was that it apparently unfitted one for doing anything else.
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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.
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Life has a way of overgrowing its achievements as well as its ruins.
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Life is always either a tight -rope or a feather-bed . — Give me the tightrope.
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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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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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She seemed to melt against him in her terror, and he caught her in his arms, held her fast there, felt her lashes beat his cheek like netted butterflies.
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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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Half the trouble in life is caused by pretending there isn't any.
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The effect produced by a short story depends almost entirely on its form.
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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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The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!
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In a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles and Orion flashed his cold fires.
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Their long years together had shown him that it did not so much matter if marriage was a dull duty, as long as it kept the dignity of duty: lapsing from that, it became a mere battle of ugly appetites.
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The desire for symmetry, for balance, for rhythm in form as well as in sound, is one of the most inveterate of human instincts.
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Everybody who does anything at all does too much.
Edith Wharton
