F. Scott Fitzgerald, fully Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald

F. Scott
Fitzgerald, fully Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald

American Novelist, Short-Story Writer best known for The Great Gatsby and Tender is the Night which were both made into films

Author Quotes

You're a rotten driver,' I protested. 'Either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn't to drive at all.' 'I am careful.' 'No, you're not.' 'Well, other people are,' she said lightly. 'What's that got to do with it?' 'They'll keep out of my way,' she insisted. 'It takes two to make an accident.' 'Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself.' 'I hope I never will,' she answered. 'I hate careless people. That's why I like you.' Her grey, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved her.

You once liked me, didn't you?, he asked. LIKED you- I LOVED you. Everybody loved you. You could've had anybody you wanted for the asking.

You're a slave, a bound helpless slave to one thing in this world, your imagination.

You remind me of a smoked cigarette.

You're not in love with me. You never wanted to marry me, did you?' 'It was the twilight,' he said wonderingly.

You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? Well, I met another bad driver, didn't I? I mean it was careless of me to makes such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, straightforward person I thought it was your secret pride. I'm thirty, I said. I'm five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor. She didn't answer. Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.

You're not sentimental?' 'No, I'm romantic-- a sentimental person thinks things will last-- a romantic person hopes against hope that they won't. Sentiment is emotional.

You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.

You're not sorry to go, of course. With people like us our home is where we are not... No one person in the world is necessary to you or to me.

You seem to take things so personally, hating people and worshipping them--always thinking people are so important--especially yourselves. You just ask to be kicked around. I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it--on the inside.

You're simply stubborn. You think you don't want to be like any one else. You always have been that way, and you always will be. But just think how it would be if every one else looked at things as you do — what would the world be like?

You are mine-you know you're mine! he cried wildly...the moonlight twisted in through the vines and listened... the fireflies hung upon their whispers as if to win his glance from the glory of their eyes.

You should have risen above it, I said smugly. It's not a slam at you when people are rude -- it's a slam at the people they've met before.

You're the only girl I've seen for a long time that actually did look like something blooming.

Things to worry about: Worry about courage. Worry about cleanliness. Worry about efficiency. Worry about horsemanship. Things not to worry about: DonÂ’t worry about popular opinion. DonÂ’t worry about dolls. DonÂ’t worry about the past. DonÂ’t worry about the future. DonÂ’t worry about growing up. DonÂ’t worry about anybody getting ahead of you. DonÂ’t worry about triumph. DonÂ’t worry about failure unless it comes through your own fault. DonÂ’t worry about mosquitoes. DonÂ’t worry about flies. DonÂ’t worry about insects in general. DonÂ’t worry about parents. DonÂ’t worry about boys. DonÂ’t worry about disappointments. DonÂ’t worry about pleasures. DonÂ’t worry about satisfactions. Things to think about: What am I really aiming at? How good am I really in comparison to my contemporaries in regard to: (a) Scholarship (b) Do I really understand about people and am I able to get along with them? (c) Am I trying to make my body a useful instrument or am I neglecting it? With dearest love, Daddy

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.

Trouble has no necessary connection with discouragement. Discouragement has a germ of its own, as different from trouble as arthritis is different from a stiff joint.

We drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

What a wonderful song, she thought-everything was wonderful tonight, most of all this romantic scene in the den with their hands clinging and the inevitable looming charmingly close. The future vista of her life seemed an unending succession of scenes like this: under moonlight and pale starlight, and in the backs of warm limousines and in low cosy roadsters stopped under sheltering trees-only the boy might change, and this one was so nice.

When I want something bad enough, common sense tells me to go and take it--and not get caught.

Why shouldn't he? All life is just a progression toward and then a recession from one phrase-- 'I love you

Think about how much you love me - had whispered. I'm not asking you to love me always like this, but I do ask you to remember. Whatever happens, there's always something in me than I am tonight

Through this twilight universe Daisy began to move again with the season; suddenly she was again keeping half a dozen dates a day with half a dozen men, and drowsing asleep at dawn with the beads and chiffon of an evening dress tangled among dying orchids on the floor beside her bed.

Under the stars,' she repeated. 'I never noticed the stars before. I always thought of them as great big diamonds that belonged to someone. Now they frighten me. They make me feel that it was all a dream, all my youth.' It was a dream,' said John quietly. 'Everybody's youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness.' How pleasant then to be insane!' So I'm told,' said John gloomily. 'I don't know any longer. At any rate, let us love for a while, for a year or so, you and me. That's a form of divine drunkenness that we can all try. There are only diamonds in the whole world, diamonds and perhaps the shabby gift of disillusion. Well, I have that last and I will make the usual nothing of it.

We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summer Sunday afternoon that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner.

Author Picture
First Name
F. Scott
Last Name
Fitzgerald, fully Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald
Birth Date
Death Date

American Novelist, Short-Story Writer best known for The Great Gatsby and Tender is the Night which were both made into films