"If you've had the identical young man you dreamed of, then that was success, and I congratulate you with all my heart.

Only in that case why didn't you fly with him to his castle in the Apennines ?" "He has no castle in the Apennines." "What has he?
An ugly brick house in Fortieth Street?
Don't tell me that; I refuse to recognise that as an ideal." "I don't care anything about his house," said Isabel.
"That's very crude of you.

When you've lived as long as I you'll see that every human being has his shell and that you must take the shell into account.

By the shell I mean the whole envelope of circumstances.
There's no such thing as an isolated man or woman; we're each of us made up of some cluster of appurtenances.

What shall we call our 'self'?
Where does it begin?
where does it end?
It overflows into everything that belongs to us--and then it flows back again.