Love is not the privilege of the virtuous, nor the exclusive right of the weak man and woman.

The earth brings forth the good thing and the bad thing with equal strength to grow great and multiply side by side, and it is not the privilege of the good thing to live forever because it is good, nor is it the condemnation of the bad to die before its time, perishing in its own evil.
A moment after Bosio had left the room, Matilde rose to her feet, very pale and unsteady, and locked the door.

Then, as though she were groping her way in darkness, she got back to the sofa, and falling upon it, buried her face in the cushions, and bit them, lest she should cry out.
She felt that it would have been easier, after all, to have killed Veronica Serra, than it had been to part with the one thing she had loved in her life.
She had not loved him better than herself, perhaps, since it was to save herself that she had driven him away.

But it had not been to save herself from so small and insignificant a thing as death, though she was vital and loved life for its own sake.

She had not realized, either, until it had been almost done, how necessary it was.