F. Scott Fitzgerald Quotes
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And in the end, we were all just humans...Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.
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To create souls in men, to create fine happiness and fine despair she must remain deeply proud - proud to be inviolate, proud also to be melting, to be passionate and possessed.
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Grown up, and that is a terribly hard thing to do. It is much easier to skip it and go from one childhood to another.
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So there was not an "I" anymore - not a basis on which I could organize my self-respect - save my limitless capacity for toil that it seemed I possessed no more.
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Dear, don't think of getting out of bed yet. I've always suspected that early rising in early life makes one nervous.
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Most people think everybody feels about them much more violently than they actually do; they think other people's opinions of them swing through great arcs of approval or disapproval.
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The greatest profound pain is cased by, and is the result of our own illusions, fantasies and dreams.
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The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day's last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.
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You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.
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The kiss originated when the first male reptile licked the first female reptile, implying in a subtle way that she was as succulent as the small reptile he had for dinner the night before.
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One hurries through, even though there's time; the past, the continent, is behind; the future is the glowing mouth in the side of the ship; the dim, turbulent alley is too confusedly the present.
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You have to develop a conscience and if on top of that you have talent so much the better. But if you have talent without conscience, you are just one of many thousand journalists.
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Look at that,' she whispered, and then after a moment: 'I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.
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It was as if for the remainder of his life he was condemned to carry with him the egos of certain people, early met and early loved, and to be only as complete as they were complete themselves. There was some element of loneliness involved--so easy to be loved--so hard to love.
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He's a bootlegger....One time he killed a man who found out that he was nephew to Von Hindenburg and second cousin to the devil.
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He snatched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his burred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.
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What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours?
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A new generation dedicated more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken...
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I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.
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I want to tell you about your heart— you've probably been neglecting your heart—and you don’t know.
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You are mine-you know you're mine!" he cried wildly...the moonlight twisted in through the vines and listened...the fireflies hung upon their whispers as if to win his glance from the glory of their eyes.
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Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.
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If you try to create a type, you may end with nothing. If you do a good job of creating an individual, you may succeed at creating a type.
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When you're older you'll know what people who love suffer. The agony. It's better to be cold and young than to love. It's happened to me before but never like this - so accidental - just when everything was going well.