Teach Me To Live, That I May

She Was Of The Stuff Of Which Great Men's Mothers Are Made. She Was Indispensable To High Generation, Hated At Tea Parties, Feared In Shops, And Loved At Crises.

The Sudden Disappointment Of A Hope Leaves A Scar Which The Ultimate Fulfillment Of That Hope Never Entirely Removes.

Her Affection For Him Was Now The Breath And Life Of Tess's Being; It Enveloped Her As A Photosphere, Irradiated Her Into Forgetfulness Of Her Past Sorrows, Keeping Back The Gloomy Spectres That Would Persist In Their Attempts To Touch Her—doubt, Fear, Moodiness, Care, Shame. She Knew That They Were Waiting Like Wolves Just Outside The Circumscribing Light, But She Had Long Spells Of Power To Keep Them In Hungry Subjection There.

Silence Has Sometimes A Remarkable Power Of Showing Itself As The Disembodied Soul Of Feeling Wandering Without Its Carcase, And It Is Then More Impressive Than Speech.

That Mercy Towards One Set Of Creatures Was Cruelty Towards Another Sickened His Sense Of Harmony. As You Got Older, And Felt Yourself To Be At The Center Of Your Time, And Not At A Point In Its Circumference, As You Had Felt When You Were Little, You Were Seized With A Sort Of Shuddering, He Perceived. All Around You There Seemed To Be Something Glaring, Garish, Rattling, And The Noises And Glares Hit Upon The Little Cell Called Your Life, And Shook It, And Warped It.