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And in the end, we were all just humans...Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.

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
Brokenness
Drunk
Heal
Idea
Ends
Ideas
Humans
Love

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Her philosophy is carpe diem for herself and laissez faire for others.
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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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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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How different it all was from what you'd planned.
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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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No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.
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Once I thought that Lake Forest was the most glamorous place in the world. Maybe it was.
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Life is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat the redeeming things are not happiness and pleasure but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle.
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The easiest way to get a reputation is to go outside the fold, shout around for a few years as a violent atheist or a dangerous radical, and then crawl back to the shelter.
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She wanted to crawl into his pocket and be safe forever.
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When I see a beautiful shell like that I can't help feeling a regret about what's inside it.
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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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It isn't given to us to know those rare moments when people are wide open and the lightest touch can wither or heal. A moment too late and we can never reach them any more in this world. They will not be cured by our most efficacious drugs or slain with our sharpest swords.
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Long afterward Amory thought of sophomore spring as the happiest time of his life. His ideas were in tune with life as he found it he wanted no more than to drift and dream and enjoy a dozen new-found friendships through the April afternoons.
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At any rate, let us love for a while, for a year or so, you and me. That's a form of divine drunkenness that we can all try. There are only diamonds in the whole world, diamonds and perhaps the shabby gift of disillusion.
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Girls like you are responsible for all the tiresome colorless marriages all those ghastly inefficiencies that pass as feminine qualities. What a blow it must be when a man with imagination marries the beautiful bundle of clothes that he's been building ideals around, and finds that she's just a weak, whining, cowardly mass of affectations!
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Human sympathy has its limits.
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I began to realize that for two years my life had been a drawing on resources that I did not possess, that I had been mortgaging myself physically and spiritually up to the hilt.
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She smiled at him, making sure that the smile gathered up everything inside her and directed it toward him, making him a profound promise of herself for so little, for the beat of a response, the assurance of a complimentary vibration in him.
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