Helen ran down a flight of stairs at the back of the house and into the garden. In the darkness she stopped and stood trembling. It seemed to her tha… - Sherwood Anderson

Civilization is perhaps nothing but a process of finding out what you cannot have.

It was as though her woman's hand was assisting him to make some minute readjustment of the machinery of his life.

Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night…You must not try to make love definite. It is the divine accident of life. If you try to be definite and sure about it and live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons gathers upon lips inflamed and make tender by kisses.