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A certain light was beginning to dawn dimly within her,—the light which, showing the way, forbids it.

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
Showing
Dawn
Beginning
Within
Light
Certain
Forbids
Way
Dimly
Awakening

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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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She wanted something to happen - something, anything: she did not know what.
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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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She was flushed and felt intoxicated with the sound of her own voice and the unaccustomed taste of candor. It muddled her like wine, or like a first breath of freedom.
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She's got some sort of notion in her head concerning the eternal rights of women.
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I'm tired, she uttered complainingly. I know you are. You don't know anything about it. Why should you know? I never was so exhausted in my life. But it isn't unpleasant. A thousand emotions have swept through me to-night. I don't comprehend half on them. Don't mind what I'm saying I am just thinking aloud.
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The past was nothing to her offered no lesson which she was willing to heed. The future was a mystery which she never attempted to penetrate. The present alone was significant.
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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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Goodbye -- Because I love you.
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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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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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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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I wonder if anyone else has an ear so tuned and sharpened as I have, to detect the music, not of the spheres, but of earth, subtleties of major and minor chord that the wind strikes upon the tree branches. Have you ever heard the earth breathe?
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There are some people who leave impressions not so lasting as the imprint of an oar upon the water.
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I should never deem a man of ordinary caliber worthy of my devotion.
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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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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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The voice of the sea speaks to the soul.
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I don't mind walking. I always feel so sorry for women who don't like to walk they miss so much--so many rare little glimpses of life and we women learn so little of life on the whole.
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The generous abundance of her passion, without guile or trickery, was like a white flame which penetrated and found response in depths of his own sensuous nature that had never yet been reached.
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