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But the beginning of things, of a world especially, is necessarily vague, tangled, chaotic, and exceedingly disturbing. How few of us ever emerge from such beginning! How many souls perish in its tumult!

Kate Chopin

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Kate Chopin
Age: 54 †
Born: 1850
Born: February 8
Died: 1904
Died: August 22
Author
Novelist
Translator
Writer
St. Louis
Missouri
Katherine O'Flaherty
Many
Vague
Tumult
Things
Awakening
Exceedingly
World
Souls
Sensuous
Necessarily
Tangled
Beginning
Perish
Especially
Chaotic
Soul
Emerge
Ever
Disturbing
Murmuring

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It was not despair, but it seemed to her as if life were passing by, leaving its promises broken and unfulfilled. Yet there were other days when she listened, was led on and deceived by fresh promises which her youth had held out to her.
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It was still quite light out of doors, but inside with the curtains drawn and the smouldering fire sending out a dim, uncertain glow, the room was full of deep shadows.
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I would give up my life for my children, but not myself.
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I'm going to pull myself together for a while and think-try to determine what character of a woman I am for, candidly, I don't know. By all the codes which I am acquainted with, I am a devilishly wicked specimen of the sex. But some way I can't convince myself that I am. I must think about it.
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There was no despondency when she fell asleep that night nor was there hope when she awoke in the morning.
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Well, for instance, when I left her today, she put her arms around me and felt my shoulder blades, to see if my wings were strong, she said.
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No, I only think you cruel, as I said the other day. Maybe not intentionally cruel but you seem to be forcing me into disclosures which can result in nothing as if you would have me bare a wound for the pleasure of looking at it, without the intention or power of healing it.
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The way to become rich is to make money, not to save it.
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She's got some sort of notion in her head concerning the eternal rights of women.
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He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that she was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.
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The peace and beauty of a spring day had descended upon the earth like a benediction.
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Do you suppose a woman knows why she loves? Does she select? Does she say to herself, 'Go to! here is a distinguished statesman with presidential possibilities I shall proceed to fall in love with him.' or, 'I shall set my heart upon this musician, whose fame is on every tongue?' or 'this financier, who controls the world's money markets?'
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So the storm passed and every one was happy.
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I would give up the unessential I would give up my money, I would give up my life for my children but I wouldnt give myself. I can't make it more clear it's only something I am beginning to comprehend, which is revealing itself to me.
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The voice of the sea speaks to the soul.
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There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know why,--when it did not seem worthwhile to be glad or sorry, to be alive or dead when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium and humanity like worms struggling blindly toward inevitable annihilation.
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She wanted something to happen - something, anything: she did not know what.
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The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies
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He greatly valued his possessions, chiefly because they were his, and derived genuine pleasure from contemplating a painting, a statuette, a rare lace curtain - no matter what - after he had bought it and placed it among his household gods.
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In the procession I should feel the crushing feet, the clashing discords, the ruthless hands and stifling breath. I could not hear the rhythm of the march.
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