"Until the great mobs could be educated into a moral sense, someone must cry: "Thou shalt not! - F. Scott Fitzgerald

"What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining."
I’m glad Jay." Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy."

Celibacy goes deeper than the flesh.

A love affair is like a short story — it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning was easy, the middle might drag, invaded by commonplace, but the end, instead of being decisive and well knit with that element of revelatory surprise as a well-written story should be, it usually dissipated in a succession of messy and humiliating anticlimaxes.