She Walks in Beauty Quotes

“This table is a pigeon trap. A dozen different forks and knives and spoons. Four different goblets. All of them just waiting to be knocked over or misapplied and mishandled. It’s a wonder anyone is ever tempted to eat.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“When I was a child, Mama had the best voice of all the members of the church. She had loved to sing. Her words had soared like an angel's over the swells of the organ. In fact, I now suspected, her entire theology had been taken from the hymnal.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“He took up my hand and looked me straight in the eyes. “You weren’t meant to hear it because it wasn’t true.” “It . . . wasn’t?” “No. You see, Franklin has always taken from me everything I ever wanted. And this time, I determined that he would not take you.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“Why do you always talk like that? With a hand in front of your mouth?” “Because it’s too large.” And I could not remember to think of peas and prunes and prisms. “Who told you that?” “My aunt.” “And what else has she told you?” “That I’m much too tall.” “Has she?” “Yes.” I said it in a whisper because Harry had come so very close and his lips were hovering just above mine. “I’m afraid that . . . I might just . . . kiss you. If that’s all right.” “Oh, Harry . . .” What a strange sensation, to feel Harry’s lips upon mine. So warm and gentle and giving. Especially when Franklin’s had been so hard and urgent and demanding. He broke away with a sigh. Placed a hand to either side of my neck and stared at me for a long moment . . . just stood there looking deeply into my eyes. And then he slid his hands down to my shoulders and clasped me to himself. “It seems just fine to me.” The words were whispered into my ear. “What does?” “Your mouth. And you. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“Signac.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“I’m a girl, Harry, I don’t have many choices. I debuted this year. I have to marry. If I don’t, then I would be like . . . a hat that’s seen one too many seasons.” “But what if you weren’t a girl? What if . . . what if you were me?” He quickly reversed the dance and moved us in the opposite direction. “If I’m . . . you . . . then who are you?” I was having trouble keeping up. With both the change in the dance and the change in the conversation. “I’m you.” “Well, then . . .” That was simple. “I’d marry me!” “You’d marry . . . you’d marry me?” “Of course. I’d call you my darling. My darling Clara.” Harry twirled me. “And then I’d call you dear Harry. No. No. I’d call you dearest Harry.” “And we could talk all we wanted, forever even, and never worry about making calls or attending balls, or operas, or private dinners.” He guided me effortlessly on the dance floor. “And we could go to Europe. We could live there.” “Where?” Harry raised a brow. “England?” I frowned. “Italy?” I nodded. “And I would . . . I would love you forever, dearest Harry.” “And I you, my darling Clara.” We stared into each other’s eyes for a long instant, and then I began to giggle and he began to chuckle and soon we were laughing together.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“He lifted his hat as he approached. “Miss Carter.” I dearly wanted to stop to talk to him, but I knew I could not. Must not. And so I kept my eyes trained on the sidewalk before me as I passed. “Miss Carter?” I kept walking. Surely he would understand. But he did not. “Clara?” He had said it so loudly that I feared we would attract attention. And so I stopped. He’d taken off his hat. “What—why—?” Standing rigid, eyes still trained on the sidewalk in front of me, I leaned slightly in his direction. And when I spoke, it was in whispered words. “I am trying to cut you.” “Cut me?” I nodded once and prepared to move on. “But . . . wait . . . what does that mean?” “I am trying to snub you.” “Oh. I see.” But it was quite clear that he didn’t. “So you must not speak to me anymore.” “Why not?” I raised my head and turned toward him. “Because I just rebuffed you. I pretended to ignore you. Really, Harry, you ought to be quite humiliated! And I did it here on the sidewalk in front of everyone.” “Why would you do that?” “Stop speaking to me!” There. Now maybe he would understand. “If you insist. But . . . how long is this cutting to last? It sounds quite painful.” We were starting to gather no little attention. Aunt was right. Better to end it here and now. I couldn’t have him anyway. “It lasts forever. You must remember that I’ve been unspeakably rude to you.” “Ah. Yes. Unspeakably rude. I’m beginning to understand. In any event, then—” “You really must stop speaking.” My voice was unaccountably beginning to rise quite beyond the range of our two sets of ears. “You mean to say forever? We can’t even—” “Now. You must stop speaking now.” “You would not want to know if, say, a small insect had become entangled in your hair?” I put a hand up to check. “Why? Has one?” “No. But in that case, you would wish for me to speak.” “Of course I would wish for you to speak. Has one?” “No.” “Really, Harry, tell me!” “You ask me not to speak to you and then you order me to speak to you? I confess I can’t keep up with all of this social nonsense.” He was laughing at me. I could see his eyes twinkling. I glared at him for one long moment and then . . . I burst into laughter too. He joined me. And when finally we could speak again, he set his hat atop his head and tipped the brim toward me. “Good day, Miss Carter.” I nodded. “Good day, Mr. De Vries.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“He began to attack the bone with a regular knife and spoon. Until I nudged him with an elbow. “The marrow shovel.” It was meant to reach down to the bottom of a bone and lift the marrow out. He reached for the utensil. “That’s right. I always forget!” He wouldn’t if Aunt had been his teacher. “Why do you think it is that we can’t just use a knife?” I smothered a laugh as I remembered that I had asked Aunt that very same thing. “I don’t know.” “Neither do I. This table is a pigeon trap. A dozen different forks and knives and spoons. Four different goblets. All of them just waiting to be knocked over or misapplied and mishandled. It’s a wonder anyone is ever tempted to eat!” “You’re doing quite well.” “Franklin’s much better at all of this than I am.” “But you’re much better at conversing.” “And making you laugh? Am I better at that?” I smiled. “Yes. I would say so.” “Good. Because that, at least, is something worthwhile.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“But if you’ve always wanted to travel, then why don’t you?” I very nearly shrugged before I remembered not to. “I can’t.” “Why not?’’ “Because . . . because . . . it’s just not done. How would I do it? What would I say?” He grinned. “Bon voyage—I’m off to the Continent. That seemed to work for me.” “But you’re a man.” “Yes. Yes, I am.” “You can do whatever you want. But I’m a girl—” “Yes, indeed you are!” I frowned. He was teasing me. “Forgive me. As you were saying?” “I cannot just go wherever I want whenever I please. I have to be escorted. And who would escort me abroad?” “I would.” I laughed. “I would!” His protest was tinged by his own laughter. “You can’t.” “And why not?” “Because we aren’t—” I was going to say married, but that would have been presumptuous. “Because you can’t. It wouldn’t be proper.” “Far be it from me to know polite from improper, but I believe you just danced your first waltz properly. With your eyes open.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“As the final bars of the dance were played, we bowed to the couples across from us and at our corners and then Mr. De Vries deposited me back at Aunt’s side. Bowed. “Thank you ever so much, Miss Carter.” “Thank you, Mr. De Vries.” He stepped a bit closer. “Don’t you think, since we spoke of . . . feathers and hatpins . . . that you could call me Harry?” I nodded. And as he left me at Aunt’s side, I was smiling still.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty

“Aunt said you danced with him.” “I did . . . are you terribly upset? Someone had to.” “I’m glad! At least I know he didn’t linger and witness my further humiliation.” Such a true friend Lizzie was. “No. We danced. Although . . .” Her gaze crept toward mine. “What?” “His brother . . .” “Yes?” “He was there. Stayed there. With you. While you were . . . had . . . fainted.” He had? Somehow that was even worse. “But by that time, someone had found a doctor.”
― Siri Mitchell, She Walks in Beauty