Edith Wharton
Edith Wharton
Edith Whartonwas a Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist, short story writer, and designer. She was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1927, 1928 and 1930. Wharton combined her insider's view of America's privileged classes with a brilliant, natural wit to write humorous, incisive novels and short stories of social and psychological insight. She was well acquainted with many of her era's other literary and public figures, including Theodore Roosevelt...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth24 January 1862
CityNew York City, NY
CountryUnited States of America
The other producer of old age is habit: the deathly process of doing the same thing in the same way at the same hour day after day, first from carelessness, then from inclination, at last from cowardice or inertia. Luckily the inconsequent life is not the only alternative; for caprice is as ruinous as routine. Habit is necessary; it is the habit of having habits, of turning a trail into a rut, that must be incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive.
In a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles and Orion flashed his cold fires.
Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.
Art is on the side of the oppressed. Think before you shudder at the simplistic dictum and its heretical definition of the freedom of art. For if art is freedom of the spirit, how can it exist within the oppressors?
We ought to be opening a bottle of wine!
traditions that have lost their meaning are the hardest of all to destroy.
I was just a screw or cog in the great machine I called life, and when I dropped out of it I found I was of no use anywhere else.
... caprice is as ruinous as routine.
Life has a way of overgrowing its achievements as well as its ruins.
It is less mortifying to believe one's self unpopular than insignificant, and vanity prefers to assume that indifference is a latent form of unfriendliness.
My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet.
Half the trouble in life is caused by pretending there isn't any.
What a shame it is for a nation to be developing without a sense of beauty, and eating bananas for breakfast.
I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.