Quote

I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart.

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
Humans
Privileged
Heart
Sort
World
Forever
Riotous
Moral
Excursions
Attention
Glimpses
Felt
Uniform
Wanted
Uniforms
Human
Glimpse

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His dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him.
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Very well then, better a sane crook than a mad puritan.
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They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together.
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The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun.
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Of all natural forces, vitality is the incommunicable one. . . . Vitality never takes. You have it or you haven't it, like health or brown eyes or a baritone voice.
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I carry the place around the world in my heart but sometimes I try to shake it off in my dreams
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He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was.
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The Montana sunset lay between the mountains like a giant bruise from which darkened arteries spread across a poisoned sky.
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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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Later she remembered all the hours of the afternoon as happy -- one of those uneventful times that seem at the moment only a link between past and future pleasure, but turn out to have been the pleasure itself.
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Work like hell! I had 122 rejection slips before I sold a story.
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In the morning you were never violently sorry-- you made no resolutions, but if you had overdone it and your heart was slightly out of order, you went on the wagon for a few days without saying anything about it, and waited until an accumulation of nervous boredom projected you into another party.
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I may turn out an intellectual, but I'll never write anything but mediocre poetry.
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You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known—and even that is an understatement.
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The mouth was wide open and ripped at the corners, as though she had choked a little in giving up the tremendous vitality she had stored so long.
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