Zelda Fitzgerald

The savor of her first kiss was gone with the hope of its repetition.

hew the battlements of life from compromise

She had a strong sense of her own insignificance; of her life’s slipping by while June bugs covered the moist fruit in the fig trees with the motionless activity of clustering flies upon an open sore.

Even as a baby, Alabama was particular like that about her own things—never wanted to share them, even then.”