F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby
touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete. Through all he said, even through his appalling
sentimentality, I was reminded of something — an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man‟s, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever.