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He lifted his arms to the crystaline, radiant sky. I know myself, he cried, but that is all.
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
Radiant
Lifted
Cried
Sky
Arms
More quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again.
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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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sometimes i wish i'd been an englishman american life is so damned dumb and stupid and healthy
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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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Learn young about hard work and manners - and you'll be through the whole dirty mess and nicely dead again before you know it.
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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you -- like music to the musician or Marxism to the Communist -- or else it is nothing, an empty, formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
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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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The hangover became a part of the day as well allowed-for as the Spanish siesta.
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Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.
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There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.
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I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart.
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He was going to live in New York, and be known at every restaurant and café, wearing a dress suit from early evening to early morning, sleeping away the dull hours of the forenoon.
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It was too late - everything was too late. For years now he had dreamed the world away, basing his decisions upon emotions unstable as water.
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It was about then [1920] that I wrote a line which certain people will not let me forget: She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven.
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When you're older you'll know what people who love suffer. The agony. It's better to be cold and young than to love. It's happened to me before but never like this - so accidental - just when everything was going well.
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Reporting the extreme things as if they were the average things will start you on the art of fiction.
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I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this lawn and 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. [- Nick Carroway]
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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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Action is character.
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They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.
F. Scott Fitzgerald