He had no plans, no definite intentions, except to kiss her lips again, to hold her in his arms.
F. Scott FitzgeraldShe was a mischief, and that was a satisfaction; no longer was she a huntress of corralled game
F. Scott FitzgeraldFrom the ruins, lonely and inexplicable as the sphinx, rose the Empire State Building.
F. Scott FitzgeraldThey had never been closer in their month of love, nor communicated more profoundly one with another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat's shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep.
F. Scott Fitzgerald