For our penitence deserves a glimpse only; our toil respite only.

There is a code of behaviour, she knew, whose seventh article (it may be) says that on occasions of this sort it behoves the woman, whatever her own occupation…

'Like a work of art,' she repeated, looking from her canvas to the drawing-room steps and back again. She must rest for a moment. And, resting, looking from on…

A sort of transaction went on between them, in which she was on one side, and life was on another, and she was always trying to get the better of it, as it was…

I feel guilty just sitting around when I know I can be doing something.

A man can do only what he can do. But if he does that each day he can sleep at night and do it again the next day.

My guilt is that I am still here...I should have died. That is my guilt.