All Romances End At Marriage.

But Nothing Is More Insidious Than The Evolution Of Wishes From Mere Fancies, And Of Wants From Mere Wishes.

The Business Of The Poet And The Novelist Is To Show The Sorriness Underlying The Grandest Things And The Grandeur Underlying The Sorriest Things.

Her Affection For Him Was Now The Breath And Life Of Tess's Being; It Enveloped Her As A Photosphere, Irradiated Her Into Forgetfulness Of Her Past Sorrows, Keeping Back The Gloomy Spectres That Would Persist In Their Attempts To Touch Her—doubt, Fear, Moodiness, Care, Shame. She Knew That They Were Waiting Like Wolves Just Outside The Circumscribing Light, But She Had Long Spells Of Power To Keep Them In Hungry Subjection There.

Did It Never Strike Your Mind That What Every Woman Says, Some Women May Feel?

Black Chaos Comes, And The Fettered Gods Of The Earth Say, Let There Be Light.