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They hadn't much faith in travel, nor a great belief in a change of scene as a panacea for spiritual ills they were simply glad to be going.

Zelda Fitzgerald

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Zelda Fitzgerald
Age: 47 †
Born: 1900
Born: July 24
Died: 1948
Died: March 10
Artist
Autobiographer
Dancer
Journalist
Novelist
Painter
Poet
Socialite
Writer
Montgomery
Alabama
Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald
Zelda Sayre
Belief
Faith
Panacea
Spiritual
Ills
Change
Hadn
Great
Glad
Going
Travel
Much
Scene
Simply

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By the time a person has achieved years adequate for choosing a direction, the die is cast and the moment has long since passed which determined the future.
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There's nothing on earth to do here but look at the view and eat. You can imagine the result since I do not like to look at views.
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Love is bitter and all there is, and that the rest is for the emotional beggars of the earth.
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Looking for love is like asking for a new point of departure ... another chance in life.
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I play the radio and moon about...and dream of Utopias where its always July the 24th 1935, in the middle of summer forever.
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I take a sun bath and listen to the hours, formulating, and disintegrating under the pines, and smell the resiny hardihood of the high noon hours. The world is lost in a blue haze of distances, and the immediate sleeps in a thin and finite sun.
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A southern moon is a sodden moon, and sultry. When it swamps the fields and the rustling sandy roads and the sticky honeysuckle hedges in its sweet stagnation, your fight to hold on to reality is like a protestation against a first waft of ether.
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I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.
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Oh, we are going to be so happy away from all the things that almost got us but couldn't quite because we were too smart for them!
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We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising.
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Most people hew the battlements of life from compromise, erecting their impregnable keeps from judicious submissions, fabricating their philosophical drawbridges from emotional retractions and scalding marauders in the boiling oil of sour grapes.
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I don't want to live. I want to love first, and live incidentally.
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There seemed to be some heavenly support beneath his shoulder blades that lifted his feet from the ground in ecstatic suspension, as if he secretly enjoyed the ability to fly but was walking as a compromise to convention.
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She felt the essence of herself pulled finer and smaller like those streams of spun glass that pull and stretch till there remains but a glimmering illusion. Neither falling nor breaking, the stream spins finer. She felt herself very small and ecstatic. Alabama was in love.
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Other people's ideas of us are dependent largely on what they've hoped for.
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[The Sun Also Rises is about] bullfighting, bullslinging and bullsh[*]t.
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I can't read or sleep. Without hope or youth or money I sit constantly wishing I were dead.
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We get something to do and as soon as we've got it, it gets us.
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People are like almanacs, Bonnie - you never can find the information you're looking for, but the casual reading is well worth the trouble.
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It seems to me that on one page I recognized a portion of an old diary of mine which mysteriously disappeared shortly after my marriage, and, also, scraps of letters which, though considerably edited, sound to me vaguely familiar. In fact, Mr. Fitzgerald (I believe that is how he spells his name) seems to believe that plagiarism begins at home.
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