A writer wastes nothing. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

My God,' he gasped, 'you're fun to kiss.

It is in the thirties that we want friends. In the forties we know they won't save us any more than love did.

I don't think he was ever happy unless someone was in love with him, responding to him like filings to a magnet, helping him to explain himself, promising him something. What it was I do not know. Perhaps they promised that there would always be women in the world who would spend their brightest, freshest, rarest hours to nurse and protect that superiority he cherished in his heart.