Over the way lights went on; far down the block the crash was heard, and pedestrians rushed up wonderingly; upstairs a tired man awoke from the edge of sleep and a little girl whimpered in a haunted doze. And all over the moonlit sidewalk around the still, black form, hundreds of prisms and cubes and splinters of glass reflected the light in little gleams of blue, and black edged with yellow, and yellow, and crimson edged with black.
The Cut-Glass Bowl, F. Scott Fitzgerald
So pretty, isn’t it? Its one of the best last lines of a story that I have read so far. Every time I read this I fall in love with Fitzgerald all over.