I can't describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport.I even hoped for a while that she'd throw me over, but she didn't, bec… - F. Scott Fitzgerald

I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses —

"There was no God in his heart, he knew; his ideas were still in riot;
there was ever the pain of memory; the regret for his lost youth-yet the
waters of disillusion had left a deposit on his soul, responsibility and a
love of life, the faint stirring of old ambitions and unrealized
dreams......
And he could not tell why the struggle was worth while, why he had
determined to use to the utmost himself and his heritage from the
personalities he had passed...
He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.
I know myself," he cried, "but that is all."

We can't possibly have a summer love. So many people have tried that the name's become proverbial. Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It's a sad season of life without growth...It has no day.