Identity Quotes - The Portrait of a Lady | The Portrait of a Lady -Summary, Themes & Characters - Novels PDF Download

"Well, I don't like originals; I like translations," Mr. Ludlow had more than once replied. "Isabel's written in a foreign tongue. I can't make her out. She ought to marry an Armenian or a Portuguese." (4.2)

Isabel’s more prosaic brother-in-law simply can’t comprehend her. Both he and Lily love Isabel, but are puzzled by her, as is much of the world.

Her life should always be in harmony with the most pleasing impression she should produce; she would be what she appeared, and she would appear what she was. Sometimes she went so far as to wish that she might find herself some day in a difficult position, so that she should have the pleasure of being as heroic as the occasion demanded. (6.1)

Isabel has high hopes for her future, and holds herself to very high standards – she wants to be an exceptional human being, even if that means dealing with troublesome times (during which she hopes to show courage under fire).

He gave a melancholy sigh and stood looking at her a moment, with his hands behind him, giving short nervous shakes to his hunting-crop. "Do you know I'm very much afraid of it – of that remarkable mind of yours?"

Our heroine's biographer can scarcely tell why, but the question made her start and brought a conscious blush to her cheek. She returned his look a moment, and then with a note in her voice that might almost have appealed to his compassion, "So am I, my lord!" she oddly exclaimed. (12.19-20)

Everyone is afraid of Isabel’s remarkable mind – her originality, independence, and determination make her an intimidating force to be reckoned with, even to herself.

"I don’t agree with you. I think just the other way. I don’t know whether I succeed in expressing myself, but I know that nothing else expresses me. Nothing that belongs to me is any measure of me; everything’s on the contrary a limit, a barrier, and a perfectly arbitrary one. Certainly the clothes which, as you say, I choose to wear, don’t express me; and heaven forbid they should!" (19.17)

Here, Isabel argues with Madame Merle, showing the essential difference between them – Madame Merle believes in the importance of outward show and appearance (under which anything can hide), while Isabel believes that people can only express their own individual identities, regardless of everything they try to show on the outside.

"Take things more easily. Don't ask yourself so much whether this or that is good for you. Don't question your conscience so much – it will get out of tune like a strummed piano. Keep it for great occasions. Don't try so much to form your character – it's like trying to pull open a tight, tender young rose. Live as you like best, and your character will take care of itself." (21.7)

Ralph, with his eternal wisdom, attempts to get Isabel to just relax and go with the flow; he hopes that she’ll let go and allow herself to develop without being so hard on herself.

Isabel was the attraction, and in all conscience a sufficient one. Osmond was a critic, a student of the exquisite, and it was natural he should be curious of so rare an apparition. (26.1)

It’s as though Osmond’s very character and identity draw him inexorably to Isabel – he can’t help but desire her.

Pansy was really a blank page, a pure white surface, successfully kept so; she had neither art, nor guile, nor temper, nor talent – only two or three small exquisite instincts: for knowing a friend, for avoiding a mistake, for taking care of an old toy or a new frock. Yet to be so tender was to be touching withal, and she could be felt as an easy victim of fate. She would have no will, no power to resist, no sense of her own importance; she would easily be mystified, easily crushed: her force would be all in knowing when and here to cling. (30.5)

Pansy, at this point, has no identity. Really – as Isabel notes, she’s a total blank slate. We get an eerie peek into her future through these observations as well. Her vulnerability makes her easily misled… and crushed. Cue ominous music….

Isabel, as she herself grew older, became acquainted with revulsions, with disgusts; there were days when the world looked black and she asked herself with some sharpness what it was that she was pretending to live for. Her old habit had been to live by enthusiasm, to fall in love with suddenly-perceived possibilities, with the idea of some new adventure. As a younger person she had been used to proceed from one little exaltation to the other: there were scarcely any dull places between. But Madame Merle had suppressed enthusiasm; she fell in love now-a-days with nothing; she lived entirely by reason and by wisdom. There were hours when Isabel would have given anything for lessons in this art; if her brilliant friend had been near she would have made an appeal to her. She had become aware more than before of the advantage of being like that – of having made one's self a firm surface, a sort of corselet of silver. (40.1)

As Isabel grows older, she transforms both inwardly and outwardly – we have to wonder if the real Isabel that we know and love is still in there, under the Madame Merle-like shell she’s trying to construct.

It had not been this, however, his objecting to her opinions; this had been nothing. She had no opinions – none that she would not have been eager to sacrifice in the satisfaction of feeling herself loved for it. What he had meant had been the whole thing – her character, the way she felt, the way she judged. This was what she had kept in reserve; this was what he had not known until he had found himself – with the door closed behind, as it were – set down face to face with it. She had a certain way of looking at life which he took as a personal offence. Heaven knew that now at least it was a very humble, accommodating way! (42.4)

Too late, Isabel realizes that it wasn’t just her ideas that Osmond found offensive, it was her whole being and way of life. She feels ambiguously as though she may have deceived him by not revealing her true self before their marriage. Come on, don’t be so hard on yourself, Isabel…

Deep in her soul – deeper than any appetite for renunciation – was the sense that life would be her business for a long time to come. And at moments there was something inspiring, almost enlivening, in the conviction. It was a proof of strength – it was a proof she should some day be happy again. It couldn't be she was to live only to suffer; she was still young, after all, and a great many things might happen to her yet. To live only to suffer – only to feel the injury of life repeated and enlarged – it seemed to her she was too valuable, too capable, for that. (53.2)

Returning to Gardencourt, Isabel starts to feel her will to live return – possibly. A hint of her old pride and confidence appears, as though the farther she gets from Osmond, the more she returns to her old self.