I Can't Read Or Sleep. Without Hope

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 Can't Read Or Sleep. Without Hope Or Youth Or Money I Sit Constantly Wishing I Were Dead.

I Suppose All We Can Really Share With People Is A Taste For The Same Kinds Of Weather.

It's Terrible To Allow Conventional Habits To Gain A Hold On A Whole Household; To Eat, Sleep And Live By Clock Ticks.

We Walked At Night Towards A Cafe Blooming With Japanese Lanterns And I Followed Your White Shoes Gleaming Like Radium In The Damp Darkness. Rising Off The Water, Lights Flickered An Invitation Far Enough Away To Be Interpreted As We Liked; To Shimmer Glamourously Behind The Silhouette Of Retrospective Good Times When We Still Believed In Summer Hotels And The Philosophies Of Popular Songs.