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

If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that registered earthquakes ten thousand miles away.

Their eyes met and they stared together at each other, alone in space.

He wanted to appear suddenly to her in novel and heroic colors. He wanted to stir her from that casualness she showed toward everything except herself.