F. Scott Fitzgerald Quotes
The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.
Take off that darn fur coat!...Or maybe you'd like to have us open all the windows.
Art isn't meaningless... It is in itself. It isn't in that it tries to make life less so.
no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . And then one fine morning—So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
By God, I may be old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to suit me. They meet all kinds of crazy fish.
The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.
Most people think everybody feels about them much more violently than they actually do they think other people's opinions of them swing through great arcs of approval or disapproval.
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain.
Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.
This selfishness is not only part of me. It is the most living part.It is somehow transcending rather than by avoiding that selfishness that I can bring poise and balance into my life.
Communism as I see it has no place in the United States, and the American people will not stand for its teachings.
So he tasted the deep pain that is reserved only for the strong, just as he had tasted for a little while the deep happiness.
Thirty--the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair.
Experience is not worth the getting. It's not a thing that happens pleasantly to a passive you--it's a wall that an active you runs up against.
There was a kindliness about intoxication - there was that indescribable gloss and glamour it gave, like the memories of ephemeral and faded evenings.
Always, after he was in bed, there were voices - indefinite, fading, enchanting - just outside his window, and before he fell asleep he would dream one of his favorites waking dreams.
Writers aren't exactly people, they're a bunch of people trying to be one person.
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.
It's only when the settlement work has gone on for months that one realizes how bad things are. As our secretary said to me, your finger-nails never seem dirty until you wash your hands.
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.
no girl can permanently bolster up a lame-duck visitor, because these day it's every girl for herself.
Her eyes in the half-light suggested night and violets, and for a moment he stirred again to that half-forgotten remoteness of the afternoon.
. . . confirmed libertines don't reform until they're tired . . .
You don’t know what a trial it is to be —like me. I've got to keep my face like steel in the street to keep men from winking at me.
I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it, on the inside.
There is something awe-inspiring in one who has lost all inhibitions, who will do anything. Of course we make him pay afterward for his moment of superiority, his moment of impressiveness.
their eyes are full of kindness as each feels the full effect of novelty after a short separation. They are drawing a relaxation from each other's presence, a new serenity.
Think how you love me, " she whispered. "I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside me there’ll always be the person I am to-night.
Often people display a curious respect for a man drunk, rather like the respect of simple races for the insane... There is something awe-inspiring in one who has lost all inhibitions.
Communism...muat of necessity be a saddening process for anyone who has ever tasted the intellectual pleasures of the world we live in.
That most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man".
Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.
Believe me, I may be a bit blasé, but I can still get any man I want.
They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together.
So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home.
Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material.
I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go
We'll all be failures?""Yes. I don't mean only money failures, but just sort of - of ineffectual and sad, and - oh, how can I tell you?
Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.
You know I'm old in some ways-in others-well, I'm just a little girl. I like sunshine and pretty things and cheerfulness-and I dread responsibility.
