The worst of doing one's duty was that it apparently unfitted one for doing anything else. — Edith Wharton

In the rotation of crops there was a recognized season for wild oats; but they were not sown more than once.

It was the old New York way of taking life "without effusion of blood": the way of people who dreaded scandal more than disease, who placed decency above courage, and who considered that nothing was more ill-bred than "scenes," except the behaviour of those who gave rise to them.

I can't love you unless I give you up.