“Well, I wasn't going to abuse him. I was only going to ask: Is there any quality which distinguishes his work from that of twenty struggling writers one could name? Of course not. He's a clever, prolific man; so are they. But he began with money and friends; he came from Oxford into the thick of advertised people; his name was mentioned in print six times a week before he had written a dozen articles. This kind of thing will become the rule. Men won't succeed in literature that they may get into society, but will get into society that they may succeed in literature.”
“But just understand the difference between a man like Reardon and a man like me. He is the old type of unpractical artist; I am the literary man of 1882. He won't make concessions, or rather, he can't make them; he can't supply the market. I--well, you may say that at present, I do nothing; but that's a great mistake, I am learning my business. Literature nowadays is a trade. Putting aside men of genius, who may succeed by mere cosmic force, your successful man of letters is your skilful tradesman. He thinks first and foremost of the markets; when one kind of goods begins to go off slackly, he is ready with something new and appetising. He knows perfectly all the possible sources of income. Whatever he has to sell, he'll get payment for it from all sorts of various quarters; none of your unpractical selling for a lump sum to a middleman who will make six distinct profits.”
“—Amy said that would be an imprudent expense; but as soon as he had got a good price for a book. Will not the publishers be kind? If they knew what happiness lurked in embryo within their foolish cheque-books!”
“Poverty will make the best people bad, if it gets hard enough. Why there’s so much of it in the world, I’m sure I can’t see.”
“The simple, sober truth has no chance whatever of being listened to, and it’s only by volume of shouting that the ear of the public is held. What”
“To the relatively poor (who are so much worse off than the poor absolutely) education is in most cases a mocking cruelty.”
“Refuge from despair is often found in the passion of self-pity and that spirit of obstinate resistance which it engenders. In”
“Dora kept her eyes down, and smiled ambiguously.”
“That of the British Museum Reading-room,’ explained Jasper; ‘known to some of us as the valley of the shadow of books. People who often work there necessarily get to know each other by sight. In the same way I knew Miss Yule’s father when I happened to pass him in the road yesterday.”
“A man who comes to be hanged,' pursued Jasper, impartially, 'has the satisfaction of knowing that he has brought society to its last resource. He is a man of such fatal importance that nothing will serve against him but the supreme effort of law. In a way, you know, that is success.' 'In”
“Poverty doesn’t allow of honourable feeling, any more than of compassion.”
“One doesn’t like to do brutal things if one can avoid them, you know.”
“The sum of their faults was their inability to earn money; but, indeed, that inability does not call for unmingled disdain.”
“He was in spring costume, and exhaled fresh odours. The”
“In passion, I can fling out violent words, but they don’t yet answer to my actual feeling. It will be long enough yet before I think contemptuously of you. You know that when a light is suddenly extinguished, the image of it still shows before your eyes. But at last comes the darkness.”
“Her womanhood went eagerly to meet him.”
“The unhoped was all but granted her. She could labour on in the valley of the shadow of books, for a ray of dazzling sunshine might at any moment strike into its musty gloom.”
“It was always in your power to rule me. What pained me worst, and hardened me against you, was that I saw you didn’t care to exert your influence. There was never a time when I could have resisted a word of yours spoken out of your love for me. But even then, I am afraid, you no longer loved me, and now —— ”
“Think of the very words “novel,” “romance” — what do they mean but exaggeration of one bit of life?”
“Mr Biffen,’ wrote another, ‘seems not to understand that a work of art must before everything else afford amusement.”
“The best moments of life are those when we contemplate beauty in the purely artistic spirit — objectively. I”
“Poverty can’t rob me of those memories. I have lived in an ideal world that was not deceitful, a world which seems to me, when I recall it, beyond the human sphere, bathed in diviner light.”
“Walker's a fool and Quarmby's an ass,' remarked her father.”
“I maintain that we people of brains are justified in supplying the mob with the food it likes. We”
“Flippancy, the most hopeless form of intellectual vice, was a characterising note of Mr Fadge’s periodical; his”
“Confound it! It's just because nobody does anything that things have come to this pass!”
“My mistake was that of numberless men nowadays. Because I was conscious of brains, I thought that the only place for me was London. It”
“The art of living is the art of compromise. We”
“Well, Maud made a mistake, let us say. Dolomore is a clown, and now she knows it.”
“The Queen has been guillotined, accused of crimes beyond imagining. Last night she appeared to me in a dream, handing me her head.”
“The conventional explanation, that God sends us the burden He knows that we are strong enough to handle it, has it all wrong. Fate, not God, sends us the problem. When we try to deal with it, we find out that we are not strong. We are weak, we get tired, we get angry, overwhelmed. We begin to wonder how we will ever make it through all the years. But when we reach the limits of our own strength, and courage, something unexpected happens. We find reinforcement coming from a source outside of ourselves. And in the knowledge that we are not alone, that God is on our side, we manage to go on.”
“If you’ll give me a chance, I’d just like a chance to show you that I—I’m sorry, Brie. Can’t we—? Can’t we try again? See each other? See if we can rekindle some of what we had? I know it’ll take time…. If we can’t, I have no one to blame but myself, but can we just—” She gave a huff of laughter. “Poor Brad,” she said. “You went from two women who couldn’t get enough of you to no one. You’re not getting laid, are you? You’re pathetic!” “I know you’re angry—you should be. I’ll make it up to you somehow. Just give me time, give us time—” “No!” she yelled at him. “No!” And then she started to laugh again. “God, you don’t know how long I waited to hear you say that! Even while I was hating you, I might have taken you back!” She shook her head in disbelief. “Jesus! Thank God you didn’t pull this sooner.” “Brie—” “For God’s sake, do I want anything to do with a man who can cheat on his wife because there’s some kind of physical thing? Something you can’t even explain? Forgive me, but I thought we had something physical!” “We did. We will again.” “No. No. Go. Get out of here. You left me for my best friend and now you’d like to see if we can rekindle something? Oh, you are such a fool. What did I ever see in you? Why didn’t I know this about you? Go!” “No, Brie, there’s more.” “I can’t take any more,” she said. “They found him.” She was stunned for a second. She couldn’t breathe. “What?” she asked. “What did you say?” He took a deep breath. “They found him—Jerome Powell. He’s in Florida. They have him in custody there. They’re working on the extradition. I think you’ll get a call tomorrow from the D.A. I heard it at work.” She took a step toward him. “Why didn’t you tell me this first?” she asked in a furious whisper. “Because I wanted you to know that I love you. I’d like to be with you through this. With you when they bring him back. I want to take care of you.” “Oh, my God,” she said in a breath. “You thought I’d take you back out of fear? Helplessness? You’re an idiot, that’s what you are! A big, stupid, goddamn idiot!” He hung his head. “Don’t you think I feel pretty terrible about what happened? Haven’t I been around since it happened? Don’t you think it’s killing me? Hell, Brie—that’s probably what broke me and Christine apart.” She started to laugh again, but tears smarted in her eyes at the same time. “It’s all about you, isn’t it, Brad?” There was a sweet voice in her head. There will be no taking, mija. Only giving. “I want a chance to try to make it right,” he said. “Well, you can’t. No one can make it right, especially you. You made your choice, Brad. You’re stuck with it.”
“You are very young and time, it is a great healer.”
“What shocked us the most was that we had no idea why we should be so shocked. Like opening a ginger ale and finding Jamesons' inside: nothing wrong with it, but it sort of takes you by surprise.”
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