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She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven.
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
Seven
Woman
Stills
Still
People
Faded
Twenty
Twenties
Lovely
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It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life.
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Aristocracy's only an admission that certain traits which we call fine - courage and honor and beauty and all that sort of thing - can best be developed in a favorable environment, where you don't have the warpings of ignorance and necessity.
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A squalid phantasmagoria of breath
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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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A new generation dedicated more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken...
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Well, I can't describe her exactly-except to say that she was beautiful. She was-tremendously alive.
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It was about then [1920] that I wrote a line which certain people will not let me forget: She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven.
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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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It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory.
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For a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
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How different it all was from what you'd planned.
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He snatched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his burred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.
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He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.
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Riches have never fascinated me, unless combined with the greatest charm or distinction.
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Very strong personalities must confine themselves in mutual conversation to very gentle subjects.
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Books are like brothers. I am an only child. Gatsby [is] my imaginary eldest brother.
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