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The truth is ... that human beings have neither kindness, nor faith, nor charity beyond what serves to increase the pleasure of the moment. They hunt in packs. Their packs scour the desert and vanish screaming into the wilderness.
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The world has raised its whip; where will it descend?
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The skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.
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Those ruffians, the Gods, shan't have it all their own way.
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Nothing is so strange when one is in love ... as the complete indifference of other people.
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The compensation of growing old ... was simply this; that the passion remains as strong as ever, but one has gained -- at last! -- the power which adds the supreme flavour to existence -- the power of taking hold of experience, of turning it round, slowly, in the light.
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Still, life had a way of adding day to day.
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A whole lifetime was too short to bring out, the full flavour; to extract every ounce of pleasure, every shade of meaning.
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What does the brain matter compared with the heart?
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"Roses," she thought sardonically, "All trash, m'dear."
