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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.
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
Never
Desirable
Confused
Seemed
Flow
Expression
Impossible
Ideas
Self
Hindered
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I was in love with a whirlwind, so when the girl threw me over, I went home and finished my novel.
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He was handsome then if never before, bound for one of those immortal moments which come so radiantly that their remembered light is enough to see by for years.
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The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American. It is more fun for an intelligent person to live in an intelligent country. France has the only two things toward which we drift as we grow older—intelligence and good manners.
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He had no plans, no definite intentions, except to kiss her lips again, to hold her in his arms.
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How different it all was from what you'd planned.
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Amory: I love you. Rosalind: I love you- now.
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The sign of intelligence is the ability to carry opposed thoughts at the same time.
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Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her If you can bounce high, bounce for her too, Till she cry Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, I must have you!
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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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No, interrupted Marcia emphatically. And you're a sweet boy. Come here and kiss me. Horace stopped quickly in front of her. Why do you want me to kiss you? he asked intently. Do you just go round kissing people? Why, yes, admitted Marcia, unruffled. 'At's all life is. Just going around kissing people.
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So they were desperately in love and being desperately in love involves a desperate existence.
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An artist is someone who can hold two opposing viewpoints and still remain fully functional.
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The truth was that Jay Gatsby, of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about His Father’s Business, the service of a vast, vulgar and meretricious beauty.
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She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven.
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Lie to me by the moonlight. Do a fabulous story.
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People disappeared, reappeared, made plans to go somewhere, and then lost each other, searched for each other, found each other a few feet away.
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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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Action is character.
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She was overstrained with grief and loneliness: almost any shoulder would have done as well.
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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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