Beauty, who was born anew every hundred years, sat in a sort of outdoor waiting room through which blew gusts of wind and ocasionally a breathless hurried star. The stars winked at her intimately as they went by and the winds made a soft incessant flurry in her hair. She was incomprehensible, for, in her, soul and spirit were one - the beauty of ther body was the essence of her soul. She was that unit sought for by philosophers through many centuries. In this outdoor waiting room of winds and stars she had been sitting for a hundred years, at peace in the contemplation of herself. It became known to her, at length, that she was born again. Sighting, she began a long conversation with a voice that was in the white wind, a conversation that took many hours and of which I can give only a fragment here.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned
