“Amory had loved himself in Eleanor, so now what he hated was only a mirror. Their poses were strewn about the pale dawn like broken glass.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
“All the way back she talked haltingly about herself, and Amory's love waned slowly with the moon. At her door they started from habit to kiss good night, but she could not run into his arms, nor were they stretched… — F. Scott Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
