The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies.
She missed him the days when some pretext served to take him away from her, just as one misses the sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sun when it was shining.
She was happy to be alive and breathing, when her whole being seemed to be one with the sunlight, the color, the odors, the luxuriant warmth of some perfect Southern day.
The stillest hour of the night had come, the hour before dawn, when the world seems to hold its breath. The moon hung low, and had turned from silver to copper in the sleeping sky.
It sometimes entered Mr. Pontellier's mind to wonder if his wife were not growing a little unbalanced mentally. He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that she was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.
Perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one's life.
One of these days," she said, "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 do not 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.
The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
When I left her to-day, she put her arms around me and felt my shoulder blades, to see if my wings were strong, she said. 'The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth.'
She says a wedding is one of the most lamentable spectacles on earth.
The flowers were like new acquaintances; she approached them in a familiar spirit, and made herself at home among them.
The way to become rich is to make money, not to save it.
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.
They had been permitted to sit up till after the ice-cream, which naturally marked the limit of human indulgence.
But the beginning of things, of a world especially, is necessarily vague, tangled, chaotic, and exceedingly disturbing.
One must possess many gifts … which have not been acquired by one's own effort. And, moreover … the artist must possess the courageous soul.
Robert's going had some way taken the brightness, the color, the meaning out of everything. The conditions of her life were in no way changed, but her whole existence was dulled, like a faded garment which seems to be no longer worth wearing.
His coming was in the nature of a welcome disturbance; it seemed to furnish a new direction for her emotions.
She seemed to have apprehended all of the composer's coldness and none of his poetry.
She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself.
She was a grown young woman when she was overtaken by what she supposed to be the climax of her fate. It was when the face and figure of a great tragedian began to haunt her imagination and stir her senses. The persistence of the infatuation lent it an aspect of genuineness. The hopelessness of it colored it with the lofty tones of a great passion.
The children appeared before her like antagonists who had overcome her; who had overpowered and sought to drag her into the soul's slavery for the rest of her days.
She grew daring and reckless, overestimating her strength. She wanted to swim far out, where no woman had swum before.
She was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.
I don't mind walking. I always feel so sorry for women who don't like to walk; they miss so much--so many rare little glimpses of life; and we women learn so little of life on the whole.
It was the first kiss of her life to which her nature had really responded. It was a flaming torch that kindled desire.
I have said it before, but I don't think I have ever came so near meaning it.
The city atmosphere certainly has improved her. Some way she doesn't seem like the same woman.
Thérèse had not reached the age of thirty-five without learning that life presents many insurmountable obstacles which must be accepted, whether with the callousness of philosophy, the revolt of weakness or the dignity of self-respect.
She had all her life long been accustomed to harbor thoughts and emotions which never voiced themselves.
She says queer things sometimes in a bantering way that you don't notice at the time and you find yourself thinking about afterward.
I hope you won't completely forget me.
One misses the sun on a cloudy day without having thought much about the sun when it was shining.
There would be no one to live for her during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature.
Mrs. Pontellier was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.
In the procession I should feel the crushing feet, the clashing discords, the ruthless hands and stifling breath. I could not hear the rhythm of the march.
Her marriage to Leonce Pontellier was purely an accident, in this respect resembling many other marriages which masquerade as the decrees of Fate.
The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings.
He reproached his wife with her inattention, her habitual neglect of the children. If it was not a mother's place to look after children, whose on earth was it? He himself had his hands full with his brokerage business.
Then the candor of the woman's whole existence, which every one might read, and which formed so striking a contrast to her own habitual reserve—this might have furnished a link. Who can tell what metals the gods use in forging the subtle bond which we call sympathy, which we might as well call love.
I would give my life for my children, but I wouldn't give myself. I can't make it more clear; it's only something which I am beginning to comprehend, which is revealing itself to me.
We shall be everything to each other. Nothing else shall be of any consequence.
He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that she was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.
I love you, only you; no one but you. It was you who awoke me last summer out of a life-long, stupid dream.
There was no despondency when she fell asleep that night; nor was there hope when she awoke in the morning.
She was becoming too familiar for her own comfort and peace of mind. It was not despair; but it seemed to her like life was passing her by, leaving its promise broken and unfulfilled.
Don't go; don't go! Oh! Edna, stay with me.
A general air of surprise and genuine satisfaction fell upon everyone as they saw the pianist enter.
He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that she was becoming herself [...].
