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Human sympathy has its limits, and we were contented to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind.
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
Cities
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Light
Sympathy
Human
Tragic
Humans
Argument
Limits
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Fade
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Arguments
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Fades
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When I'm with you, I don't breathe quite right.
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Happiness, remarked Maury Noble one day, is only the first hour after the alleviation of some especially intense misery.
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Beauty is only to be admired, only to be loved - to be harvested carefully and then flung at a chosen lover like a gift of roses. It seems to me, so far as I can judge clearly at all, that my beauty would be used like that.
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An artist is someone who can hold two opposing viewpoints and still remain fully functional.
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He wanted to appear suddenly to her in novel and heroic colors. He wanted to stir her from that casualness she showed toward everything except herself.
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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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Life is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat the redeeming things are not happiness and pleasure but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle.
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Beware the artist who's an intellectual also. The artist who doesn't fit.
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Long afterward Amory thought of sophomore spring as the happiest time of his life. His ideas were in tune with life as he found it he wanted no more than to drift and dream and enjoy a dozen new-found friendships through the April afternoons.
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Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief, and I tried very hard to die, but I seemed to bear an enchanted life.
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We can't possibly have a summer love. So many people have tried that the name's become proverbial. Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It's a sad season of life without growth...It has no day.
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Englishmen must have an island.
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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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The notion of sitting down and conjuring up, not only words in which to clothe thoughts but thoughts worthy of being clothed--the whole thing was absurdly beyond his desires.
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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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Then a strange thing happened. She turned to him and smiled, and as he saw her smile every rag of anger and hurt vanity dropped from him — as though his very moods were but the outer ripples of her own, as though emotion rose no longer in his breast unless she saw fit to pull an omnipotent controlling thread.
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It is not merely enough to have the ability to be persistant, you must also have the ability to start over.
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Long ago, there was something in me, but now that thing is gone. Now that thing is gone, that thing is gone. I cannot cry. I cannot care. That thing will come back no more.
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Don't forget who you are and where you come from.
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...for a moment people set down their glasses in county clubs and speak-easies and thought of their old best dreams.
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