The Age of Innocence
Edith WhartonThe Age of Innocence Gönderileri
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Perhaps she too had kept her memory of him as something apart; but if she had, it must have been like a relic in a small dim chapel, where there was not time to pray every day.
A lie by day, a lie by night, a lie in every touch and every look; a lie in every caress and every quarrel; a lie in every word and in every silence.
“Do you know—I hardly remembered you?”
“Hardly remembered me?”
“I mean: how shall I explain? I—it's always so. Each time you happen to me all over again.”
"(...) For a long time I've hoped this chance would come: that I might tell you how you've helped me, what you've made of me—"
"And what do you make out that you've made of me?"
"Of you?"
"Yes: for I'm of your making much more than you ever were of mine. I'm the man who married one woman because another one told him to."
It's a hundred years since we've met—it may be another hundred before we meet again.
‘What a life for you!’ he cried.
‘Oh, it’s bearable-as long as it’s a part of yours.’
‘And as long as mine’s a part of yours?’
‘Yes.’
