Life is so damned hard, so damned hard... It just hurts people and hurts people, until finally it hurts them so that they can't be hurt ever any more… - F. Scott Fitzgerald

There was a midsummer restlessness abroad — early August with imprudent loves and impulsive crimes.

"Clark," she said softly, "I wouldn't change you for the world.
You're sweet the way you are. The things that'll make you fail
I'll love always — the living in the past, the lazy days and
nights you have, and all your carelessness and generosity."

I only wanted absolute quiet to think out why I had developed a sad attitude toward sadness, a melancholy attitude toward melancholy and a tragic attitude toward tragedy — why I had become identified with the objects of my horror or compassion.