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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.
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
Long
Something
Cry
Gone
Cannot
Care
Back
Come
Thing
More quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald
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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God knows what you've been doing, everything you've been doing. You may fool me, but you can't fool God!
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You seem to take things so personally, hating people and worshipping them--always thinking people are so important--especially yourselves. You just ask to be kicked around. I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it--on the inside.
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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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All I think of ever is that I love you.
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Better let it all alone in the depths of her heart and the depths of the sea.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Travel, which had once charmed him, seemed, at length, unendurable, a business of color without substance, a phantom chase after his own dream's shadow.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Experience is the name so many people give to their mistakes.
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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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All things come to him who mates.
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Their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind.
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But he hated to be sober. It made him conscious of the people around him, of that air of struggle, of greedy ambition, of hope more sordid than despair, of incessant passage up or down.
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The Montana sunset lay between the mountains like a giant bruise from which darkened arteries spread across a poisoned sky.
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Everything that begins, begins with blood.
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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.
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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 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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We all must try to be good.
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You’re just the romantic age,” she continued- “fifty. Twenty-five is too worldly wise thirty is apt to be pale from overwork forty is the age of long stories that take a whole cigar to tell sixty is- oh, sixty is too near seventy but fifty is the mellow age. I love fifty.” - Hildegarde
F. Scott Fitzgerald
We all have souls of different ages
F. Scott Fitzgerald
