Too much of anything is bad, but too much Champagne is just right. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star.

...there seemed some necessity of taking all or nothing; it was as if for the remainder of his life he was condemned to carry with him the egos of certain people, early met and early loved, and to be only as complete as they were complete themselves. There was some element of loneliness involved — so easy to be loved — so hard to love.

It seemed that the only lover she had ever wanted was a lover in a dream.