Death Is The Only Real Elegance.

It Seems To Me That On One Page I Recognized A Portion Of An Old Diary Of Mine Which Mysteriously Disappeared Shortly After My Marriage, And, Also, Scraps Of Letters Which, Though Considerably Edited, Sound To Me Vaguely Familiar. In Fact, Mr. Fitzgerald (i Believe That Is How He Spells His Name) Seems To Believe That Plagiarism Begins At Home.

Scott-there's Nothing In The World I Want But You-and Your Precious Love. All The Material Things Are Nothing. I'd Just Hate To Live In A Sordid, Colorless Existence-because You'd Soon Love Less-and Less-and I'd Do Anything-anything-to Keep Your Heart For My Own-i Don't Want To Live-i Want To Love First And Live Incidentally.

I Believed I Was A Salamander, And It Seems I Am Nothing But An Impediment.

Looking For Love Is Like Asking For A New Point Of Departure ... Another Chance In Life.

I'm Just Not The Same. Half Of Me Is Out There Looking For You And The Other Half Is Wishing I Didn't Have To." I Don't Want To Live - I Want To Love First, And Live Incidentally. Don't-don't Ever Think Of The Things You Can't Give Me-you've Trusted Me With The Dearest Heart Of All-and It's So Damn Much More Than Anybody Else In All The World Has Ever Had.