Their Lips Brushed Like Young Wild Flowers

Amory Took To Writing Poetry On Spring Afternoons, In The Gardens Of The Big Estates Near Princeton, While Swans Made Effective Atmosphere In The Artificial Pools, And Slow Clouds Sailed Harmoniously Above The Willow. May Came Too Soon, And Suddenly Unable To Bear Walls, He Wandered The Campus At All Hours Through Starlight And Rain.

For Awhile After You Quit Keats All Other Poetry Seems To Be Only Whistling Or Humming.

"i Was Counting The Waves", Replied Amory Gravely, "i'm Going In For Statistics".

Was It The Infinite Sadness Of Her Eyes That Drew Him Or The Mirror Of Himself That He Found In The Gorgeous Clarity Of Her Mind?

He Wanted People To Like His Mind Again-after Awhile It Might Be Such A Nice Place In Which To Live.