Another unsettling element in modern art is that common symptom of immaturity, the dread of doing what has been done before. – Edith Wharton
They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods. – Edith Wharton
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death. – Edith Wharton
There is one friend in the life of each of us who seems not a separate person, however dear and beloved, but an expansion, an interpretation, of one’s self, the very meaning of one’s soul. – Edith Wharton