Who can tell what metals the gods use in forging the subtle bond which we call sympathy, which we might as well call love.

More from The Awakening

• It was not despair; but it seemed to her as if life were passing by, leaving its promise broken and unfulfilled.
• 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.
• The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings.