“I don't know if I should care for a man who made life easy; I should want someon…” — Edith Wharton

I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.

The worst of doing one's duty was that it apparently unfitted one for doing anything else.

To be able to look life in the face: that's worth living in a garret for, isn't it?

In any really good subject, one has only to probe deep enough to come to tears.