The farmers may be the backbone of the country, but who wants to be a backbone?

Amory: I love you. Rosalind: I love you- now.

A sense of the fundamental decencies is parceled out unequally at birth.

She was overstrained with grief and loneliness: almost any shoulder would have done as well.

He dispensed starlight to casual moths.

Here was a new generation, shouting the old cries, learning the old creeds, through a revery of long days and nights; destined finally to go out into that dirty gray turmoil to follow love and pride; a new generation dedicated more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken.

Very well then, better a sane crook than a mad puritan.