Rather nice night, after all. Stars are out and everything. Exceptionally tasty assortment of them.

Rich girls don't marry poor boys, Jay Gatsby.

Their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind.

People living alone get used to loneliness.

The price for his intactness was incompleteness.

A fellow has to believe in something, Jay-such as the rottenness of humanity.

I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.