Man in his hunger for faith will feed his mind with the nearest and most convenient food. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

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.

...and for a moment I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires

"Ours was a generation grown up to find all gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken" —