There was an ocean above us, held in by a thin sac that might rupture and let down a flood at any second.

In a country of ideas, consciousness is its' citizen.

Being soaked alone is cold. Being soaked with your best friend is an adventure.

Mine was the twilight and the morning. Mine was a world of rooftops and love songs.

... only darkened trails of rain could paint your face upon a pane...

Under the glass porte-cochère of a theatre Amory stood, watching the first great drops of rain splatter down and flatten to dark stains on the sidewalk. The air became grey and opalescent; a solitary light suddenly outlined a window over the way; then another light; then a hundred more danced and glimmered into vision. Under his feet a thick, iron-studded skylight turned yellow; in the street the lamps of the taxicabs sent out glistening sheens along the already black pavement. The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day__ last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.