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A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about.
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
Poor
Drifted
Dream
Ghosts
Without
Breathing
Real
Ghost
Like
Material
World
Materials
Air
Dreams
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He had waited five years and bought a mansion where he dispensed starlight to casual moths - so that he could 'come over' some afternoon to a stranger's garden.
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All things come to him who mates.
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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.
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The extraordinary thing is not that people in a lifetime turn out worse or better than we had prophesied particularly in America that is to be expected. The extraordinary thing is how people keep their levels, fulfill their promises, seem actually buoyed up by an inevitable destiny.
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You really ought to read more books - you know, those things that look like blocks but come apart on one side.
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Your first most typical figure in any new place turns out to be a bluff or a local nuisance.
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It takes two to make an accident.
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So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home.
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People invariably chose inimitable people to imitate.
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You're a slave, a bound helpless slave to one thing in the world, your imagination.
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He had no plans, no definite intentions, except to kiss her lips again, to hold her in his arms.
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sometimes i wish i'd been an englishman american life is so damned dumb and stupid and healthy
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Great art is the contempt of a great man for small art.
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Amory wondered how people could fail to notice that he was a boy marked for glory, and when faces of the throng turned toward him and ambiguous eyes stared into his, he assumed the most romantic of expressions and walked on the air cushions that lie on the asphalts of fourteen.
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That was always my experience-a poor boy in a rich town a poor boy in a rich boy's school a poor boy in a rich man's club at Princeton .... However, I have never been able to forgive the rich for being rich, and it has colored my entire life and works.
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You've got an awfully kissable mouth.
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but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game
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She’s got an indiscreet voice,” I remarked. “It’s full of-“ I hesitated. “Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly. That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money-that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it.
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Conditions in the [movie] industry somehow propose the paradox: We brought you here for your individuality but while you're here we insist that you do everything to conceal it.
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Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.
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