as she watched her friend disappear down the sleepy street of dusty sunshine...
F. Scott FitzgeraldEverywhere we go and move on and change, something's lost--something's left behind. You can't ever quite repeat anything, and I've been so yours, here--
F. Scott FitzgeraldI want it to smell of magnolias instead
of peanuts and I want my shoes to crunch on the same gravel that Lee's
boots crunched on. 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--
i'm in a muddle about a lot of things -- i've just discovered that i've a mind, and i'm starting to read"
"read what?"
"everything. i have to pick and choose, of course, but mostly things that make me think.
I'm a slave to my emotions, to my likes, to my hatred of boredom, to most of my desires.
F. Scott Fitzgeraldsometimes i wish i'd been an englishman; american life is so damned dumb and stupid and healthy
F. Scott Fitzgeraldi was perhaps an egotist in youth, but i soon found it made me morbid to think too much about myself
F. Scott FitzgeraldMostly, we authors must repeat ourselves - that's the truth. We have two or three great and moving experiences in our lives - experiences so great and moving that it doesn't seem at the time anyone else has been so caught up and so pounded and dazzled and astonished and beaten and broken and rescued and illuminated and rewarded and humbled in just that way ever before.
Then we learn our trade, well or less well, and we tell our two or three stories - each time in a new disguise - maybe ten times, maybe a hundred, as long as people will listen.
Tags: writing writers-on-writing
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 FitzgeraldSudden revulsion seized Amory, disgust, loathing for the whole incident. He desired frantically to be away, never to see Myra again, never to kiss anyone; he became conscious of his face and hers, of their clinging hands, and he wanted to creep out of his body and hide somewhere safe out of sight, up in the corner of his mind.
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