F. Scott Fitzgerald, fully Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald

F. Scott
Fitzgerald, fully Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald
1896
1940

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

Author Quotes

Too much of anything is bad, but too much Champagne is just right.

We both fitted. If our corners were not rubbed off they were at least pulled in. But deep in us both was something that made us require more for happiness. I didn't know what I wanted

We're going through the black air with our arms wide and our feet straight out behind like a dolphin's tail, and we're going to think we'll never hit the silver down there till suddenly it'll be all warm round us and full of little kissing, caressing waves.

When his son was dressed Mr. Button regarded him with depression. The costume consisted of dotted socks, pink pants, and a belted blouse with a wide white collar. Over the latter waved the long whitish beard, drooping almost to the waist. The effect was not good.

Who would not be pleased at carrying lamps helpfully through the darkness?

You are bound to go up and down, just as I did in my youth, but do keep your clarity of mind, and if fools or sages dare to criticise don't blame yourself too much.

Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know, because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, Dot, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.

Though the Jazz Age continued it became less and less an affair of youth. The sequel was like a children's party t 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.

Travel, which had once charmed him, seemed, at length, unendurable, a business of color without substance, a phantom chase after his own dream's shadow.

We can't possibly have a summer love. So many people have tried that the name's become proverbial. Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It's a sad season of life without growth...It has no day.

What a feeble thing intelligence is, with its short steps, its waverings, its pacings back and forth, its disastrous retreats! Intelligence is a mere instrument of circumstances. There are people who say that intelligence must have built the universe - why, intelligence never built a steam-engine! Circumstances built a steam-engine. Intelligence is little more than a short foot-rule by which we measure the infinite achievements of Circumstances.

When I see a beautiful shell like that I can't help feeling a regret about what's inside it.

Why didn't you tell me that if the girl had been worth having she'd have waited for you? No sir, the girl really worth having won't wait for anybody.

There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to be pulled down out of he young breath-giving air.

They proceeded with an infinite guile that would have horrified her parents.

There was something pathetic in his concentration, as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him anymore.

They seemed nearer, not only mentally, but physically when they read ... Their chance was to make everything fine and finished and rich and imaginative; they must bend tiny golden tentacles from his imagination to hers, that would take the place of the great, deep love that was never so near, yet never so much of a dream.

There! she said, as she spread the tablecloth and put the sandwiches in a neat pile upon it. Don't they look tempting? I always think that food tastes better outdoors. With that remark, remarked Kismine, Jasmine enters the Middle class.

They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.

ThereÂ’s a loneliness that only exists in oneÂ’s mind. The loneliest moment in someoneÂ’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is blink.

There’s a writer for you, he said. Knows everything and at the same time he knows nothing. [Narrator] It was my first inkling that he was a writer. And while I like writers—because if you ask a writer anything you usually get an answer—still it belittled him in my eyes. 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. It’s like actors, who try so pathetically not to look in mirrors. Who lean backward trying—only to see their faces in the reflecting chandeliers.

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.

There's no beauty without poignancy and there's no poignancy without the feeling that it's going, men, names, books, houses--bound for dust--mortal--a small boy appeared beside them and, swinging a handful of banana peels, flung them valiantly in the direction of the Potomac.

There was a midsummer restlessness abroad—early August with imprudent loves and impulsive crimes.

There's no 'Safety First' in Art.

Author Picture
First Name
F. Scott
Last Name
Fitzgerald, fully Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald
Birth Date
1896
Death Date
1940
Bio

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