F. Scott Fitzgerald
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald, known professionally as F. Scott Fitzgerald, was an American novelist and short story writer, whose works are the paradigmatic writings of the Jazz Age. He is widely regarded as one of the greatest American writers of the 20th century. Fitzgerald is considered a member of the "Lost Generation" of the 1920s. He finished four novels: This Side of Paradise, The Beautiful and Damned, The Great Gatsby, and Tender Is the Night. A fifth, unfinished novel, The...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth24 September 1896
CitySaint Paul, MN
CountryUnited States of America
Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy.
She wanted to crawl into his pocket and be safe forever.
A woman should be able to kiss a man beautifully and romantically without any desire to be either his wife or his mistress.
...I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires....
He must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about...like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.
His hand took hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be over-dreamed —that voice was a deathless song.
Whenever you feel like criticizing any one...just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.
I am tired of knowing nothing and being reminded of it all the time.
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.
This is what I think now: that the natural state of the sentient adult is a qualified unhappiness.
Hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you.
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.
In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.
i'm a slave to my emotions, to my likes, to my hatred of boredom, to most of my desires