Quote

She smiled at him, making sure that the smile gathered up everything inside her and directed it toward him, making him a profound promise of herself for so little, for the beat of a response, the assurance of a complimentary vibration in him.

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
Directed
Inside
Beat
Sure
Profound
Complimentary
Making
Beats
Vibration
Littles
Response
Gathered
Little
Smile
Vibrations
Everything
Smiled
Toward
Assurance
Promise

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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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Human sympathy has its limits, and we were contented to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind.
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In short, you have only your emotions to sell. This is the experience of all writers.
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You are mysterious, I love you. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and virtuous, and that’s the rarest known combination.
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I couldn't forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified.
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Men get to be a mixture of the charming mannerisms of the women they have known.
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Action is character.
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the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions.
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The bottle of whiskey - the second one - was now in constant demand by all present, excepting Catherine, who 'felt just as good on nothing at all.
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I began to like New York, the racy, adventurous feel of it at night, and the satisfaction that the constant flicker of men and women and machines gives to the restless eye.
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I hope something happens. I'm restless as the devil and have a horror of getting fat or falling in love and growing domestic.
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She wanted to crawl into his pocket and be safe forever.
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I was too absorbed to be responsive
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She knew few words and believed in none.
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Sometimes I don't know whether I'm real or whether I'm a character in one of my novels.
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You're a slave, a bound helpless slave to one thing in the world, your imagination.
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The helpless ecstasy of loosing himself in her charm was a powerful opiate rather than a tonic.
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the cracked plate has to be retained in the pantry, has to be kept in service as a household necessity. It can never be warmed on the stove nor shuffled with the other plates in the dishpan it will not be brought out for company but it will do to hold crackers late at night or to go into the ice-box with the left overs.
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