I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I'd believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.
F. Scott FitzgeraldStichwörter: love
Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat.
F. Scott FitzgeraldStichwörter: perseverance failure tenacity
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 FitzgeraldThere was no God in his heart, he knew; his ideas were still in riot;
there was ever the pain of memory; the regret for his lost youth-yet the
waters of disillusion had left a deposit on his soul, responsibility and a
love of life, the faint stirring of old ambitions and unrealized
dreams......
And he could not tell why the struggle was worth while, why he had
determined to use to the utmost himself and his heritage from the
personalities he had passed...
He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.
I know myself," he cried, "but that is all.
First, he realized that the sea was blue and that there was an enormous
quantity of it, and that it roared and roared-really all the banalities
about the ocean that one could realize, but if any one had told him then
that these things were banalities, he would have gaped in wonder.
This unlikely story begins on a sea that was a blue dream, as colorful as blue-silk stockings, and beneath a sky as blue as the irises of children's eyes.
F. Scott FitzgeraldThis is a valley of ashes--a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of gray cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-gray men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight.
F. Scott FitzgeraldI was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
F. Scott FitzgeraldStichwörter: philosophy
Think how you love me,' she whispered. 'I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember.'
You'll always be like this to me.'
Oh no; but promise me you'll remember.' Her tears were falling. 'I'll be different, but somewhere lost inside me there'll always be the person I am tonight.
The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun.
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