...I think he revalued everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes.

Let's borrow life preservers and jump over. I think we should do something spectacular. I feel that all our lives have been too restrained.

His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

...their eyes are full of kindness as each feels the full effect of novelty after a short separation. They are drawing a relaxation from each other's presence, a new serenity.

America is a willingness of the heart.

Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.

An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmaster of ever afterwards.