Begin with an individual, and before you know it you find that you have created a type; begin with a type, and you find that you have created - nothing. F. Scott Fitzgerald More Quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald More Quotes From F. Scott Fitzgerald Forgotten is forgiven. F. Scott Fitzgerald forgiveness forgiving forgotten A sense of responsibility would spoil her. She's too pretty. F. Scott Fitzgerald spoil sense-of-responsibility responsibility It was a grey day, that least fleshly of all weathers; a day of dreams and far hopes and clear visions. It was a day easily associated with those abstract truths and purities that dissolve in the sunshine or fade out in mocking laughter by the light of the moon. The trees and clouds were carved in classical severity; the sounds of the countryside had harmonized to a monotone, metallic as a trumpet, breathless as the Grecian urn. F. Scott Fitzgerald sunshine laughter dream There's a right way of doing things and a wrong way. If you've made up your mind to be different from everybody else, I don't suppose I can stop you, but I really don't think it's very considerate. F. Scott Fitzgerald different mind thinking It occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well. F. Scott Fitzgerald differences race men 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. F. Scott Fitzgerald afternoon garden years Baseball is a game played by idiots for morons. F. Scott Fitzgerald idiot baseball games Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering—this is an all-weather beatitude for gloom in general and fairly salutary day-time advice for everyone. But at three o’clock in the morning, a forgotten package has the same tragic importance as a death sentence, and the cure doesn’t work—and in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day. F. Scott Fitzgerald real dark morning She smiled, a moving childish smile that was like all the lost youth in the world. F. Scott Fitzgerald lost-youth world moving Never befuddle a solitary thrashing with a last annihilation. F. Scott Fitzgerald annihilation solitary lasts Sometimes I wish I'd went through those good times stone cold sober so I could remember everything," he said, "but then again, if I had been sober the times probably wouldn't have been worth remembering. F. Scott Fitzgerald remembers-everything wish beer "If it wasn’t for the mist we could see your home across the bay," said Gatsby. "You always have a green light that burns at the end of your dock." Daisy put her arm through his abruptly but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to him, almost touching her. It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted things had diminished by one. F. Scott Fitzgerald distance stars home Life was a damned muddle - a football game with everyone offside and the referee gotten rid of - everyone claiming the referee would have been on his side. F. Scott Fitzgerald games football life he used to think that he wanted to be good, he wanted to be kind, he wanted to be brave and wise, but it was all pretty difficult. He wanted to be loved, too, if he could fit it in. F. Scott Fitzgerald brave wise thinking Everybody's youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness. F. Scott Fitzgerald youth dream time If you have anything to say, anything you feel nobody has ever said before, you have got to feel it so desperately that you will find some way to say it that nobody has ever found before, so that the thing you have to say and the way of saying it blend as one matter--as indissolubly as if they were conceived together. F. Scott Fitzgerald matter together say-anything Was it the infinite sadness of her eyes that drew him or the mirror of himself that he found in the gorgeous clarity of her mind? F. Scott Fitzgerald sadness mirrors eye So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight. F. Scott Fitzgerald cooling great-gatsby-gatsby twilight A man's social rank is determined by the amount of bread he eats in a sandwich. F. Scott Fitzgerald sandwiches bread men Nothing any good isn't hard. F. Scott Fitzgerald hard writing
