Her body calculated to a millimeter to suggest a bud yet guarantee a flower.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
He went three hundred yards up the slope to the other hotel, he engaged a room, and found himself washing without a memory of the intervening ten minutes, only a sort of drunken flush pierced with voices, unimportant voices that did not know how much he was loved.
Very few of the people who accentuate the futility of life remarks the futility of themselves.
No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.
The instant her voice broke off ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said.
He was consumed with wonder by her presence.