why shouldn't he? All life is just a progression toward and then a recession from one phrase-- 'I love you

Many nights he lay there dreaming awake of secret cafés in Mont Marte, where ivory women delved in romantic mysteries with diplomats and soldiers of fortune, while orchestras played Hungarian waltzes and the air was thick and exotic with intrigue and moonlight and adventure.

For awhile after you quit Keats all other poetry seems to be only whistling or humming.

To create souls in men, to create fine happiness and fine despair she must remain deeply proud - proud to be inviolate, proud also to be melting, to be passionate and possessed.

He talked a lot about the past and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy.

You really ought to read more books - you know, those things that look like blocks but come apart on one side.

Nobody ever became a writer just by wanting to be one.