You've got an awfully kissable mouth. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

A man does not recover from such jolts — he becomes a different person and, eventually, the new person finds new things to care about.

There was a pause. Then she smiled and the corners of her mouth drooped and an almost imperceptible sway brought her closer to him, looking up into his eyes. A lump rose in Dexter's throat, and he waited breathless for the experiment, facing the unpredictable compound that would form mysteriously from the elements of their lips. Then he saw — she communicated her excitement to him, lavishly, deeply, with kisses that were not a promise but a fulfillment. They aroused in him not hunger demanding renewal but surfeit that would demand more surfeit . . . kisses that were like charity, creating want by holding back nothing at all.

Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief, and I tried very hard to die, but I seemed to bear an enchanted life.