Quote

I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife.

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
Wife
Back
Thing
Make
Latest
Love
Toms
Nowhere
Suppose
Nobody

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You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known—and even that is an understatement.
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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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Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering
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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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Was it the infinite sadness of her eyes that drew him or the mirror of himself that he found in the gorgeous clarity of her mind?
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Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.
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Often people display a curious respect for a man drunk, rather like the respect of simple races for the insane... There is something awe-inspiring in one who has lost all inhibitions.
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we both fitted. If our corners were not rubbed off they were at least pulled in. But deep in us both was something that made us require more for happiness. I didn't know what I wanted
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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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She had an air of seeming to wait, as if for a man to get through with something more important than herself, a battle or an operation, during which he must not be hurried or interfered with. When the man had finished she would be waiting, without fret or impatience, somewhere on a highstool, turning the pages of a newspaper.
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Great books write themselves, only bad books have to be written.
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We want to believe. Young students try to believe in older authors, constituents try to believe in their Congressmen, countries try to believe in their statesmen, but they can't. Too many voices, too much scattered, illogical ill-considered criticism.
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What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining. I’m glad Jay. Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.
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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!
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People talk of the courage of convictions, but in actual life a man's duty to his family may make a rigid course seem a selfish indulgence of his own righteousness.
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I was enjoying myself now. I had taken two finger bowls of champagne and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental and profound.
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he was figuratively following along beside her as she walked the fence, ready to catch her if she should fall.
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The transition from libertine to prig was so complete.
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