I Used To Build Dreams About You.

Now The Standard Cure For One Who Is Sunk Is To Consider Those In Actual Destitution Or Physical Suffering—this Is An All-weather Beatitude For Gloom In General And Fairly Salutary Day-time Advice For Everyone. But At Three O’clock In The Morning, A Forgotten Package Has The Same Tragic Importance As A Death Sentence, And The Cure Doesn’t Work—and In A Real Dark Night Of The Soul It Is Always Three O’clock In The Morning, Day After Day.

I Won’t Kiss You. It Might Get To Be A Habit And I Can’t Get Rid Of Habits.

A Sense Of The Fundamental Decencies Is Parceled Out Unequally At Birth.

They Slipped Briskly Into An Intimacy From Which They Never Recovered.

He's Sensitive And I Don't Want Him To Break His Heart Over Somebody Who Doesn't Care About Him.