‘Think how you love me,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember.’

‘You’ll always be like this to me.’

‘Oh no; but promise me you’ll remember.’  Her tears were falling.  ‘I’ll be different, but somewhere lost inside me there’ll always be the person I am tonight.’

(F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night)
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