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Authors:

There was no God in his heart, he knew; his ideas were still in riot; there was ever the pain of memory; the regret for his lost youth-yet thewaters of disillusion had left a deposit on his soul, responsibility and alove of life, the faint stirring of old ambitions and unrealizeddreams...... And he could not tell why the struggle was worth while, why he haddetermined to use to the utmost himself and his heritage from thepersonalities he had passed... He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky. I know myself," he cried, "but that is all.

F. Scott Fitzgerald