The past--the wild charge at the head of his men up San Juan Hill; the first years of his marriage when he worked late into the summer dusk down in the busy city for young Hildegarde whom he loved; the days before that when he sat smoking far into the night in the gloomy old Button house on Monroe Street with his grandfather-all these had faded like unsubstantial dreams from his mind as though they had never been. He did not remember.

Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead.

The Montana sunset lay between the mountains like a giant bruise from which darkened arteries spread across a poisoned sky.

God knows what you've been doing, everything you've been doing. You may fool me, but you can't fool God!

I'll never be a poet,' said Amory as he finished. 'I'm not enough of a sensualist really; there are only a few obvious things that I notice as primarily beautiful: women, spring evenings, music at night, the sea; I don't catch the subtle things like 'silver-snarling trumpets.' I may turn out an intellectual, but I'll never right anything but mediocre poetry.

I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.

Nothing is as obnoxious as other people's luck.