I don't have so many friends that I can afford to turn my back on any of them.

Agents and producers have to get you into a box to accommodate their limited imaginations.

He was like something out of a fairytale or a myth, the last of his breed in a world that was writing the last page of its book.

Strive as she would to put some order in her thoughts, the words would not come more clearly; yet she felt that she could not leave him without trying to make him understand that she had saved herself whole from the seeming ruin of her life.

Written By Edith Wharton

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