“One’s eyes moved on quickly to her daughter, who had magic in her pink palms and her cheeks lit to a lovely flame, like the thrilling flush of children after their cold baths in the evening. Her fine forehead sloped gently up to where her hair bordering it like an armorial shield, burst into lovelocks and waves and curlicues of ash blonde and gold.  Her eyes were bright, big, clear and shining, the colour of her cheeks was real breaking close to the surface from the strong pump of her heart.  Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood – She was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night

Touched by the way someone can tell a story without pictures, making me actually seeing it like it’s there, just in front of my eyes! (Thank you Mackenzie Yeates for sharing)