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I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it, on the inside.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
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F. Scott Fitzgerald
Age: 43 †
Born: 1897
Born: September 24
Died: 1940
Died: December 21
Author
Novelist
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Writer
St Paul
Minnesota
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald
Wear
Inside
Literature
Feelings
Heart
Like
People
More quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald
He wanted to appear suddenly to her in novel and heroic colors. He wanted to stir her from that casualness she showed toward everything except herself.
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I am a woman and my business is to hold things together. My business is to tear them apart.
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Though the Jazz Age continued it became less and less an affair of youth. The sequel was like a children's party taken over by the elders.
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Suddenly she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future, not what had not been but what would never be.
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A sense of the fundamental decencies is parceled out unequally at birth.
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Those days are over. I have to be won all over again every time you see me.
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sometimes i wish i'd been an englishman american life is so damned dumb and stupid and healthy
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Even when everything seems rotten you can't trust that judgment. It's the sum of all your judgments that counts.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Girls like you are responsible for all the tiresome colorless marriages all those ghastly inefficiencies that pass as feminine qualities. What a blow it must be when a man with imagination marries the beautiful bundle of clothes that he's been building ideals around, and finds that she's just a weak, whining, cowardly mass of affectations!
F. Scott Fitzgerald
I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go
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Daisy began to sing with the music in a husky, rhythmic whisper, bringing out a meaning in each word that it had never had before and would never have again. When the melody rose, her voice broke up sweetly, following it, in a way contralto voices have, and each change tipped out a little of her warm human magic upon the air.
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Beautiful things grow to a certain height and then they fail and fade off, breathing out memories as they decay.
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That's the whole burden of this novel - the loss of those illusions that give such color to the world that you don't care whether things are true or false as long as they partake of the magical glory.
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A squalid phantasmagoria of breath
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Nothing any good isn't hard.
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At fifteen you had the radiance of early morning, at twenty you will begin to have the melancholy brilliance of the moon.
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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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People invariably chose inimitable people to imitate.
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A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
New York had all the iridescence of the beginning of the world.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
