A certain light was beginning to dawn dimly within her,—the light which, showing the way, forbids it.

A general air of surprise and genuine satisfaction fell upon everyone as they saw the pianist enter.

He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that she was becoming herself […].

The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of...

[…] the beginning of things, of a world especially is necessarily vague, tangled, chaotic, and exceedingly disturbing.

An indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul’s summer...

There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know why,–when it did not seem worthwhile to be glad or sorry, to be alive or dead; when life appeared to her like a grotesque...

I always feel so sorry for women who don’t like to walk; they miss so much – so many rare little glimpses of life; and we women learn so little of life on the whole.

There was a dull pang of regret because it was not the kiss of love which had inflamed her, because it was not love which had held this cup of life to her lips.

The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings.

It sometimes entered Mr. Pontellier’s mind to wonder if his wife were not growing a little unbalanced mentally. He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that she...

Exhaustion was pressing upon and overpowering her. “Good-by–because I love you.” He did not know; he did not understand. He would never understand. Perhaps Doctor Mandelet would have understood if she had seen him–but it...

…when I left her to-day, she put her arms around me and felt my shoulder blades, to see if my wings were strong, she said. ‘The bird that would soar above the level plain of...

She wanted something to happen – something, anything: she did not know what.

The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies

She had all her life long been accustomed to harbor thoughts and emotions which never voiced themselves… They belonged to her her and were her own, and she entertained the conviction that she had a...

I don’t want anything but my own way. That is wanting a good deal, of course, when you have to trample upon the lives, the hearts, the prejudices of others […]

She felt as if a mist had been lifted from her eyes, enabling her to look upon and comprehend the significance of life, that monster made up of beauty and brutality.

She was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.

She was flushed and felt intoxicated with the sound of her own voice and the unaccustomed taste of candor. It muddled her like wine, or like a first breath of freedom.

…there would be no powerful will binding hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow creature…And yet she had loved...

The trouble is,” sighed the Doctor, grasping her meaning intuitively, “that youth is given up to illusions. It seems to be a provision of Nature; a decoy to secure mothers for the race. And Nature...

feed upon opinion” when her own soul had invited her.

She was becoming too familiar for her own comfort and peace of mind. It was not despair; but it seemed to her like life was passing her by, leaving its promise broken and unfulfilled.

The mother-women seemed to prevail that summer at Grand Isle. It was easy to know them, fluttering about with extended, protecting wings when any harm, real or imaginary, threatened their precious brood. They were women...

She perceived that her will had blazed up, stubborn and resistant. She could not at that moment have done other than denied and resisted. She wondered if her husband had ever spoken to her like...

Her husband seemed to her now like a person whom she had married without love as an excuse.

Some people are born with a vital and responsive energy. It not only enables them to keep abreast of the times; it qualifies them to furnish in their own personality a good bit of the...

She felt that her speech was voicing the incoherency her thoughts, and stopped abruptly.

[Edna lived] a dual life – that outward existence which conforms, the inward life which questions