As she expanded the room grew smaller around her.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
No, I'm thinking about myself - my black old inside self, the real one, with the fundamental honesty that keeps me from being absolutely wicked by making me realize my own sins.
His apprehension of splendor was fading so that presently the luxury of eternal mourning would depart.
Too bad she was dull--dull girls were unbearable--certainly pretty though.
The helpless ecstasy of loosing himself in her charm was a powerful opiate rather than a tonic.
It's just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights. I sort of feel they're never coming again, and I'm not really getting all I could out of them.