I’ve Heard It Said That Daisy’s Murmur

But With Every Word She Was Drawing Further And Further Into Herself, So He Gave That Up, And Only The Dead Dream Fought On As The Afternoon Slipped Away, Trying To Touch What Was No Longer Tangible, Struggling Unhappily, Undespairingly, Toward That Lost Voice Across The Room.

All I Think Of Ever Is That I Love You.

Books Are Like Brothers. I Am An Only Child. Gatsby [is] My Imaginary Eldest Brother.

Dishonesty In A Woman Is A Thing You Never Blame Deeply.

Vitality Shows In Not Only The Ability To Persist But The Ability To Start Over.