Bokelskere.no

But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even povertry, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.

We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other

"And we'll never love anyone else but each other"
"No. Never."

...where we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright. That was where we could go

I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil

... acting "by the old rule that how good a book is should be judged by the man who writes it by the excellence of the material that he eliminates."