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You may try but you can never imagine what it is to have a man's form of genius in you, and to suffer the slavery of being a girl.
All the learnin' my father paid for was a bit o' birch at one end and an alphabet at the other.
If we had a keen vision of all that is ordinary in human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which is the other side of silence.
He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.
When death comes it is never our tenderness that we repent from, but our severity.
Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together.
Different taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.
It is never too late to be what you might have been.
We are all of us imaginative in some form or other, for images are the brood of desire.
It is surely better to pardon too much, than to condemn too much.
No anguish I have had to bear on your account has been too heavy a price to pay for the new life into which I have entered in loving you.
Her future, she thought, was likely to be worse than her past, for after her years of contented renunciation, she had slipped back into desire and longing; she found joyless days of distasteful occupation harder and harder; she found the image of the intense and varied life she yearned for, and despaired of, becoming more and more importunate.
Certainly the determining acts of her life were not ideally beautiful. They were the mixed result of young and novel impulse struggling amidst the conditions of an imperfect social state, in which great feelings will often take the aspect of error, and great faith the aspect of illusion.
There is one order of beauty which seems made to turn heads. It is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle.
If I got places, sir, it was because I made myself fit for 'em. If you want to slip into a round hole, you must first make a ball of yourself; that's where it is.
Some discouragement, some faintness of heart at the new real future which replaces the imaginary, is not unusual, and we do not expect people to be deeply moved by what is not unusual. That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact of frequency has not yet wrought itself into the coarse emotion of mankind, and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.
What should I do—how should I act now, this very day . . . What she would resolve to do that day did not yet seem quite clear, but something that she could achieve stirred her as with an approaching murmur which would soon gather distinctness.
It is very hard to say the exact truth, even about your own immediate feelings – much harder than to say something fine about them which is not the exact truth.
Selfish— a judgment readily passed by those who have never tested their own power of sacrifice.
It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted.
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