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A vacuum can only exist, I imagine, by the things which enclose it.

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
Imagine
Science
Things
Enclose
Vacuums
Vacuum
Exist

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Emptying the ashtrays was very expressive of myself. i just lump everything in a great heap which i have labeled ‘the past,’ and having thus emptied this deep reservoir that was once myself, i am ready to continue.
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Death is the only real elegance.
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Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.
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Nobody has ever been able to experience what they have thoroughly understood - or understand what they have experienced until they have achieved a detachment that renders them incapable of repeating the experience.
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memories should be sharp when one has nothing else to live for
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One illusion is as good as another.
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Nothing could have survived our life.
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I suppose all we can really share with people is a taste for the same kinds of weather.
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Father said conflict develops the character
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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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Look closer and you'll see something extraordinary, mystifying, something real and true. We have never been what we seemed.
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Why is there happiness and comfort and excitement where you are and no where else in the world.
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Something in me vibrates to a dusky, dreamy smell of dying moons and shadows.
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Anything incomprehensible has a sexual significance to many people under thirty-five.
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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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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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She quietly expected great things to happen to her, and no doubt that’s one of the reasons why they did.
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Being in love, she concluded, is simply a presentation of our pasts to another individual, mostly packages so unwieldy that we can no longer manage the loosened strings alone.
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