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They were smiling at each other as if this was the beginning of the world.
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
Smiling
Beginning
World
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And Yale is November, crisp and energetic.
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The reason one writes isn't the fact he wants to say something. He writes because he has something to say.
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Murder your darlings.
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I carry the place around the world in my heart but sometimes I try to shake it off in my dreams
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Her body calculated to a millimeter to suggest a bud yet guarantee a flower.
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Better let it all alone in the depths of her heart and the depths of the sea.
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She wouldn't let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up in a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow.
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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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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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Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther ... And one fine morning ---
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I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others--young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life.
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For awhile after you quit Keats all other poetry seems to be only whistling or humming.
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Can't repeat the past? he cried incredulously. Why of course you can! He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.
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I want to be a society vampire, you see.
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And after reading Thoreau I felt how much I have lost by leaving nature out of my life.
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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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he could transform the barest incident into a thing of curve and contour.
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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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Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold?... This yellow slave Will knit and break religions, bless th' accursed, Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves, And give them title, knee and approbation With senators on the bench.
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Premature success gives one an almost mystical conception of destiny as opposed to will power-at its worst the Napoleonic delusion.
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