The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day's last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.
F. Scott FitzgeraldHow the unforgettable faces of dusk would blend to her, the myriad footsteps, a thousand overtures, would blend to her footsteps; and there would be more drunkenness than wine in the softness of her eyes on his.
F. Scott FitzgeraldI avoided writers very carefully because they can perpetuate trouble as no one else can.
F. Scott FitzgeraldThey seemed nearer, not only mentally, but physically when they read ... Their chance was to make everything fine and finished and rich and imaginative; they must bend tiny golden tentacles from his imagination to hers, that would take the place of the great, deep love that was never so near, yet never so much of a dream.
F. Scott Fitzgerald