She admired him; she was used to clutching her hands together in his wake and heaving audible sighs.
F. Scott FitzgeraldTravel, which had once charmed him, seemed, at length, unendurable, a business of color without substance, a phantom chase after his own dream's shadow.
F. Scott FitzgeraldItโs just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights. I sort of feel theyโre never coming again, and Iโm not really getting all I could out of them.
F. Scott Fitzgerald