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The peace and beauty of a spring day had descended upon the earth like a benediction.

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
Beauty
Upon
Peace
Earth
Like
Benediction
Descended
Spring

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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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I should never deem a man of ordinary caliber worthy of my devotion.
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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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The way to become rich is to make money, not to save it.
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She wanted something to happen - something, anything: she did not know what.
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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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To be an artist includes much one must possess many gifts - absolute gifts - which have not been acquired by one's own effort. And, moreover, to succeed, the artist much possess the courageous soul.
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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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She's got some sort of notion in her head concerning the eternal rights of women.
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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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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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but whatever came, she had resolved never again to belong to another than herself.
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Does he write to you? Never a line. Does he send you a message? Never a word. It is because he loves you, poor fool, and is trying to forget you, since you are not free to listen to him or to belong to him.
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So the storm passed and every one was happy.
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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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The voice of the sea speaks to the soul.
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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'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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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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