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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
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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
Cry
Moment
White
Lost
Moments
Mirage
Back
Mirages
Come
Glittering
Splendid
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But I suppose you must touch life in order to spring from it.
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I have lived hard and ruined the essential innocence [sic] in myself that could make it that possible [sic], and the fact that I have abused liquor is something to be paid for with suffering and death perhaps but not renunciation.
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From the ruins, lonely and inexplicable as the sphinx, rose the Empire State Building.
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When I'm with you, I don't breathe quite right.
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I couldn't forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified.
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Even when the east excited me most, even when I was keenly aware of its superiority to the broad, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which only spared children and the very old-even then it had always for me a quality of distortion.
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When he buys his ties he has to ask if gin will make them run.
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If you're in love it ought to make you happy. You ought to laugh.
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But you can love more than just one person, can't you?
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To write it, it took three months to conceive it three minutes to collect the data in it all my life.
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Only remember west of the Mississippi it's a little more look, see, act. A little less rationalize, comment, talk.
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He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf, muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was liable to collapse.
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Those days are over. I have to be won all over again every time you see me.
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Cut out all these exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.
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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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I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people lean toward her an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.
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She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven.
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To create souls in men, to create fine happiness and fine despair she must remain deeply proud - proud to be inviolate, proud also to be melting, to be passionate and possessed.
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Never miss a party...good for the nerves--like celery.
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Men don’t often know those times when a girl could be had for nothing.
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