"We cannot bear to regard ourselves simply as playthings of blind chance, we cannot admit to feeling ourselves abandoned."

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The sky lay over the city like a map showing the strata of things and the big full moon toppled over in a furrow like the abandoned wheel of a gun carriage on a sunset field of battle and the shadows walked like cats and I looked into the white and ghostly interior of things and thought of you and I looked on their structural outsides and thought of you and was lonesome.

— Zelda Fitzgerald