As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat's shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.

F. Scott Fitzgerald
Profession: Author
Nationality: American
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I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires.
I guess I'm the Black Death,' he said slowly. 'I don't seem to bring people happiness any more.
At our convictions are hills from which we look At they are caves in which we hide.
Don't be morbid,' Jordan said. ‘Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.