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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
World
Materials
Air
Dreams
Poor
Drifted
Dream
Ghosts
Without
Breathing
Real
Ghost
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Material
More quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Amory: I love you. Rosalind: I love you- now.
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If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that registered earthquakes ten thousand miles away.
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You are the loveliest thing that I have ever known.
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Having once found the intensity of art, nothing else that can happen in life can ever again seem as important as the creative process.
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And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
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He had possessed the arrogance of a tall member of a short race, with no obligation save to be tall.
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Actually that’s my secret — I can’t even talk about you to anybody because I don’t want any more people to know how wonderful you are.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alivewith chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s names.
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I learned a little of beauty - enough to know that it had nothing to do with truth.
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Never miss a party...good for the nerves--like celery.
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At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.
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You're a slave, a bound helpless slave to one thing in the world, your imagination.
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A sense of responsibility would spoil her. She's too pretty.
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The victor belongs to the spoils.
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He snatched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his burred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.
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Once I thought that Lake Forest was the most glamorous place in the world. Maybe it was.
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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.
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An artist is someone who can hold two opposing viewpoints and still remain fully functional.
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And Yale is November, crisp and energetic.
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We all have souls of different ages
F. Scott Fitzgerald
