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She was incurably dishonest.
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
Incurably
Dishonest
More quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald
We all must try to be good.
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All I kept thinking about, over and over, was 'You can't live forever you can't live forever.
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Men don’t often know those times when a girl could be had for nothing.
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There's no beauty without poignancy and there's no poignancy without the feeling that it's going, men, names, books, houses--bound for dust--mortal--
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If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream.
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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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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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I want you to take a red-hot bath as hot as you can bear it, and just relax your nerves. You can read in the tub if you wish.
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I love this simply because it's cute, and I guess it's a sign of the times in many respect. It's pretty much saying you complete me, only in the sweetest way possible.
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Beware the artist who's an intellectual also. The artist who doesn't fit.
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Your first most typical figure in any new place turns out to be a bluff or a local nuisance.
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Good manners are an admission that everybody is so tender that they have to be handled with gloves. Now, human respect—you don't call a man a coward or a liar lightly, but if you spend your life sparing people's feelings and feeding their vanity, you get so you can't distinguish what should be respected in them.
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Well, I can't describe her exactly-except to say that she was beautiful. She was-tremendously alive.
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Then I grew up, and the beauty of succulent illusions fell away from me.
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People living alone get used to loneliness.
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And he could not tell why the struggle was worthwhile, why he had determined to use the utmost himself and his heritage from the personalities he had passed... He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky. I know myself, he cried, But that is all.
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He had seen me several times, and had intended to call on me long before, but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it.
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New York had all the iridescence of the beginning of the world.
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But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot.
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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
