Dearest, Dearest, when I wake up in the middle of the night and realise that after all it was not to be, I feel I want to die. I can’t go on living any more. Perhaps when we meet this summer we may talk things over and decide differently — we were so excited and sad that day, and I don’t feel that I can live all my life without you. You speak of other people. Don’t you know there are no other people for me, but only you…
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Rich Boy
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