But never mind; faint heart never won true Friend. O Friend, may it come to pass, once, that when you are my Friend I may be yours.

It's hard to keep passing myself off as a grown-up when a piece of me is still six years old and utterly at the mercy of authority.

Like a compass needle that points north, a man's accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.

They belonged to that vast group of human automata who go through life without neglecting to perform a single one of the gestures executed by the surrounding puppets.

Written By Edith Wharton

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