I know myself," he cried, "but that is all- F. Scott Fitzgerald More Quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald More Quotes From F. Scott Fitzgerald Amory took to writing poetry on spring afternoons, in the gardens of the big estates near Princeton, while swans made effective atmosphere in the artificial pools, and slow clouds sailed harmoniously above the willow. May came too soon, and suddenly unable to bear walls, he wandered the campus at all hours through starlight and rain. F. Scott Fitzgerald wall rain spring When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. That's my middle-west - not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. F. Scott Fitzgerald real dark winter Amory: I love you. Rosalind: I love you- now. F. Scott Fitzgerald love-you he wanted people to like his mind again-after awhile it might be such a nice place in which to live. F. Scott Fitzgerald nice mind people He hadn’t once ceased looking at Daisy, and I think he revalued everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he stared around at his possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding presence none of it was any longer real. F. Scott Fitzgerald eye real thinking Even when everything seems rotten you can't trust that judgment. It's the sum of all your judgments that counts. F. Scott Fitzgerald rotten judgement said I may turn out an intellectual, but I'll never write anything but mediocre poetry. F. Scott Fitzgerald intellectual writing may Kiss me now, love me now. F. Scott Fitzgerald kiss-me kissing I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all--Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some deficiency in common which made us subtly unadaptable to Eastern life. F. Scott Fitzgerald jordan west stories That's the whole burden of this novel - the loss of those illusions that give such color to the world that you don't care whether things are true or false as long as they partake of the magical glory. F. Scott Fitzgerald color loss giving Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something-an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man's, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever. F. Scott Fitzgerald struggle air men Men she knew'? - she had conceded vaguely to herself that all men who had ever been in love with her were her friends. F. Scott Fitzgerald conceded been-in-love men She was a dark, unenduring little flower - yet he thought he detected in her some quality of spiritual reticence, of strength drawn from her passive acceptance of all things. In this he was mistaken. F. Scott Fitzgerald flower acceptance spiritual For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing. F. Scott Fitzgerald rocks wings reality He snatched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his burred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever. F. Scott Fitzgerald eye air hands They had never been closer in their month of love, nor communicated more profoundly one with another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat's shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep. F. Scott Fitzgerald coats lips months You’re just the romantic age,” she continued- “fifty. Twenty-five is too worldly wise; thirty is apt to be pale from overwork; forty is the age of long stories that take a whole cigar to tell; sixty is- oh, sixty is too near seventy; but fifty is the mellow age. I love fifty.” - Hildegarde F. Scott Fitzgerald No," interrupted Marcia emphatically. "And you're a sweet boy. Come here and kiss me." Horace stopped quickly in front of her. "Why do you want me to kiss you?" he asked intently. "Do you just go round kissing people?" "Why, yes," admitted Marcia, unruffled. "'At's all life is. Just going around kissing people. F. Scott Fitzgerald kissing sweet boys He dispensed starlight to casual moths. F. Scott Fitzgerald moths casual lifestyle Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief, and I tried very hard to die, but I seemed to bear an enchanted life. F. Scott Fitzgerald relief sports war
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