She confused him and hindered the flow of his ideas. Self-expression had never seemed at once so desirable and so impossible.

He lifted his arms to the crystaline, radiant sky. "I know myself," he cried, "but that is all.

The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alivewith chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s names.

The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day's last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.

At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.

One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise.

Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy.