Going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings.
I thought his memory was like the other memories of the dead that accumulate in every man's life,—a vague impress on the brain of shadows that had fallen on it in their swift and final passage...
It would have been so much in accordance with the wisdom of life, which consists in putting out of sight all the reminders of our folly, of our weakness, of our mortality; all that makes against our efficiency — the memory of our failures, the hints of our undying fears, the bodies of our dead friends.
You can't, in sound morals, condemn a man for taking care of his own integrity. It is his clear duty.
To slay, to love—the greatest enterprises of life upon a man! And I have no experience of either.
Being a woman is a terribly difficult trade since it consists principally of dealings with men.