He’s quite as nervously broken down as I am, but it manifests itself in different ways. His inclination is toward megalomania and mine toward melancholy.

“Me gustaba pasear por la Quinta Avenida y elegir a alguna mujer romántica entre…”

“We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summer…”

“They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here…”

“I'll never be a poet,' said Amory as he finished. 'I'm not enough of a sensuali…”