There was nothing, it seemed, that grew stale so soon as pleasure. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

in crowded rooms they would form words with their lips for each other's eyes

I like France, where everybody thinks he's Napoleon — down here everybody thinks he's Christ.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven-a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of anti-climax.