F. Scott Fitzgerald Quotes
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As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat's shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.
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Summer was gone and now Indian summer. The grass was cold and there was no mist and no dew. After he left she would go in and light the gas and close the shatters, and he would go down the path and on to the village. To these two life had come quickly and gone, leaving not bitterness, but pity; not disillusion, but only pain.
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You're not sorry to go, of course. With people like us our home is where we are not... No one person in the world is necessary to you or to me.
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All she wanted was to be a little girl, to be efficiently taken care of by some yielding yet superior power, stupider and steadier than herself. It seemed that the only lover she had ever wanted was a lover in a dream
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They were still in the happier stages of love. They were full of brave illusions about each other, tremendous illusions, so that the communion of self with self seemed to be on a plane where no other human relations mattered.
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my imagination persisted in sticking horrors into the dark- so I stuck my imagination into the dark instead, and let it look out at me.
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Want any of this stuff? Jordan?... Nick?" I didn't answer. Nick?" he asked again. What?" Want any?" No... I just remembered that today's my birthday." I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing road of a new decade.
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A big man has no time really to do anything but just sit and be big.
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You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.
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Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.
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She confused him and hindered the flow of his ideas. Self-expression had never seemed at once so desirable and so impossible.
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He stretched his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky. 'I know myself,' he cried, 'but that is all - '
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I never blame failure - there are too many complicated situations in life - but I am absolutely merciless toward lack of effort.
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You're a historian. Tell me if there are any bath-tubs in history. I think they've been frightfully neglected.
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Happiness, remarked Maury Noble one day, is only the first hour after the alleviation of some especially intense misery.
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Action is character.
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To the wingless a more interesting phenomenon is their (W/E Egg) dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.
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My generation of radicals and breakers-down never found anything to take the place of the old virtues of work and courage and the old graces of courtesy and politeness.
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Dishonesty in a woman is a thing you never blame deeply - I was casually sorry, and then I forgot.
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It occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well.
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But he hated to be sober. It made him conscious of the people around him, of that air of struggle, of greedy ambition, of hope more sordid than despair, of incessant passage up or down.
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Aristocracy's only an admission that certain traits which we call fine - courage and honor and beauty and all that sort of thing - can best be developed in a favorable environment, where you don't have the warpings of ignorance and necessity.
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When people are taken out of their depths they lose their heads, no matter how charming a bluff they may put up.
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all the time something within her was crying for a decision. She wanted her life shaped now, immediately — and the decision must be made by some force — of love, of money, of unquestionable practicality — that was close at hand