“All the time in the world—his life and hers. But for
an instant as he kissed her he knew that though he search through eternity he
could never recapture those lost April hours. He might press her close now till
the muscles knotted on his arms
—she was something desirable and rare that he
had fought for and made his own—but never again an intangible whisper in the
dusk, or on the breeze of night. . . .
“Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April
is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love
twice.” —American novelist and short-story writer F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), “The Sensible Thing,” in All the Sad Young Men (1926)
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