Marriage is not for me. I tell you that I am Blank Verse. I am talent, and I do not rhyme with Love. I am talent and I do not rhyme with man. — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share Image
“Then Night came down like the feathery soot of a smoky lamp, and smutted[9] first the bedquilt, then the hearth-rug, then the window-seat, and then at last the great, stormy, faraway outside world. But sleep did not come. Oh, no! Nothing new came at all except that particularly wretched, itching type of insomnia which seems to rip away from one's… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share
“As far as I can reckon, a woman can stand absolutely anything under God's heaven that she knows; but she just up and can't… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share Image
“You don't seem to understand," I whispered. "It's Christmas relationships that are worrying Carol and me so! It worries us dreadfully! Oh, of course we understand all about the Little Baby Christ! And the camels! And the wise men! And the frankincense! That's easy! But who is Santa Claus? Unless—unless—?" It was Carol himself who signaled me to go on.… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share
Supplementing the far, remote Glory-of-God expression in his face, the glory-of-doughnuts shone suddenly very warmly. — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share
“...a fellow's a fool when he marries who don't go to work deliberately to study and understand his wife. Women are awfully understandable if… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share Image
“More than being absurdly blond and absurdly messy, the Young Electrician had one of those extraordinarily sweet, extraordinarily vital, strangely mysterious, utterly unexplainable masculine faces that fill your senses with an odd, impersonal disquietude, an itching unrest, like the hazy, teasing reminder of some previous existence in a prehistoric cave, or, more tormenting still, with the tingling, psychic prophecy of… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share
Now everybody who knows anything at all knows perfectly well that even a business letter does not deserve the paper on which it is… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share Image
the time to grant anybody a favor is the day the favor is asked, for that day is the one psychological moment of the… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share Image
“Incidentally her head ached and her shoulders ached and her lungs ached and the ankle-bones of both feet ached quite excruciatingly. But nothing of her felt permanently incapacitated except her noble expression. Like a strip of lip-colored lead suspended from her poor little nose by two tugging wire-gray wrinkles her persistently conscientious sickroom smile seemed to be whanging aimlessly against… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share
“Why, I've been all over the world, I tell you, and fairly loafed and lolled in every conceivable sort of ease and luxury, but the Soul of me—the wild, restless, breathless, discontented soul of me—never sat down before in all its life—I say, until my frightened hand cuddled into his broken one. I tell you I don't pretend to explain… — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share
The Pretty Lady's brains were almost entirely in her fingers. — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share Image
Love was a fever that came along a few years after chicken-pox and measles and scarlet fever. — Eleanor Hallowell Abbott Copy Share Image
