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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.
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
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Reason
Writing
Something
Writes
Wants
More quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Dishonesty in a woman is a thing you never blame deeply.
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It is youth’s felicity as well as its insufficiency that it can never live in the present, but must always be measuring up the day against its own radiantly imagined future
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And Yale is November, crisp and energetic.
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A stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words.
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The bottle of whiskey - the second one - was now in constant demand by all present, excepting Catherine, who 'felt just as good on nothing at all.
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I have never wished there was a God to call on- I have often wished there was a God to thank.
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When people are taken out of their depths they lose their heads, no matter how charming a bluff they may put up.
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All she wanted was to be a little girl, to be efficiently taken care of by some yielding yet superior power, stupider and steadier than herself. It seemed that the only lover she had ever wanted was a lover in a dream
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He had waited five years and bought a mansion where he dispensed starlight to casual moths - so that he could 'come over' some afternoon to a stranger's garden.
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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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They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.
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It was too late - everything was too late. For years now he had dreamed the world away, basing his decisions upon emotions unstable as water.
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Men don’t often know those times when a girl could be had for nothing.
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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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I am too much a moralist at heart, and really want to preach at people in some acceptable form, rather than entertain them.
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Her body calculated to a millimeter to suggest a bud yet guarantee a flower.
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It’s just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights. I sort of feel they’re never coming again, and I’m not really getting all I could out of them.
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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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The water reached up for her, pulled her down tenderly out of the heat, seeped in her hair and ran into the corners of her body. She turned round and round in it, embracing it, wallowing in it.
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Great books write themselves, only bad books have to be written.
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