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Her beauty climbed the rolling slope, it came into the room, rustling ghost-like through the curtains.
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
Ghost
Room
Rooms
Rustling
Came
Slope
Beauty
Slopes
Like
Climbed
Curtains
Rolling
More quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Everywhere we go and move on and change, something's lost--something's left behind. You can't ever quite repeat anything, and I've been so yours, here--
F. Scott Fitzgerald
So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight - watching over nothing.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
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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If you have anything to say, anything you feel nobody has ever said before, you have got to feel it so desperately that you will find some way to say it that nobody has ever found before, so that the thing you have to say and the way of saying it blend as one matter--as indissolubly as if they were conceived together.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
A sense of the fundamental decencies is parceled out unequally at birth.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
I want you to take a red-hot bath as hot as you can bear it, and just relax your nerves. You can read in the tub if you wish.
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!
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The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.
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Her grey, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires, and I knew that first I had to get myself definitely out of that tangle back home.
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For the moment I can only cry out that I have lost my splendid mirage. Come back, come back, O glittering and white!
F. Scott Fitzgerald
...for a moment people set down their glasses in county clubs and speak-easies and thought of their old best dreams.
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Debut: the first time a young girl is seen drunk in public.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
You’re just the romantic age,” she continued- “fifty. Twenty-five is too worldly wise thirty is apt to be pale from overwork forty is the age of long stories that take a whole cigar to tell sixty is- oh, sixty is too near seventy but fifty is the mellow age. I love fifty.” - Hildegarde
F. Scott Fitzgerald
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.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
All I think of ever is that I love you.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
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.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
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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Ernest [Hemmingway] was always ready to lend a helping hand to the one on the rung above him.
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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
F. Scott Fitzgerald
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain.
F. Scott Fitzgerald