"He remembered a day when the grass was damp. She had come running to him, her sandals covered in dew. She had pressed herself against him, leaning on her own shoes, and offered him her face, like an open book. Think how much you love me, she'd whispered. I'm not asking you to always love me that much, but I am asking you to remember it. Whatever happens, I'll always be who I am tonight."

Tender is the Night - Francis Scott Fitzgerald