Happiness, remarked Maury Noble one day, is only the first hour after the alleviation of some especially intense misery.

Intermittently she caught the gist of his sentences and supplied the rest from her subconscious, as one picks up the striking of a clock in the middle with only the rhythm of the first uncounted strokes lingering in the mind.

He looked at her and for a moment she lived in the bright blue worlds of his eyes, eagerly and confidently.

For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing.

Personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures.

Baltimore is warm but pleasant... I belong here, where everything is civilized and gay and rotted and polite.

Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice. --The Sensible Thing