It had been, however, as if the thrill of their association itself pressed in him, as great felicities do, the sharp spring of fear.

It had been, however, as if the thrill of their association itself pressed in him, as great felicities do, the sharp spring of fear.
Not in others."
I exist in you.
"It's you who draw me out.
She took it from him with her face again giving out all it had in answer, and they remained once more confronted and united in their essential wealth of life.
"Upon my word I've a subscription!"
He almost moaned, he ached, from the depth of his content.
What Maisie Knew by Henry James.
'Her little world was phantasmagoric - strange shadows on a sheet. It was as if the whole performance had been given for her - a mite of a half-scared infant in a great dim theatre'.
You're a whole library of the unknown, the uncut."
The women one meets—what are they but books one has already read?
You'd have to pull it uphill—it's you yourself who are at the top.
Even 'society' won't know how good for it you are; it's too stupid, and you're beyond it.
No marvel Aunt Maud builds on you—except that you're so much too good for what she builds *for*.
You're different and different—and then you're different again.
How can I look at another?
"All women but you are stupid.
Something suddenly, as if under a last determinant touch, welled up in him and overflowed—the sense of his good fortune and her variety, of the future she promised, the interest she supplied.
Densher stood before her as if he wondered what everything she thus promptly, easily and above all amusingly met him with, would have been found, should it have come to an analysis, to "take."
"Yes, precisely—that takes, on his part, genius."
"Then there you are!"