They were careless people, Tom and Daisy- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.
F. Scott FitzgeraldTag: fitzgerald jazz-age-stories 1920s amecian-fiction
She's a self-conscious vampire ... and she goes about using sex as a sort of shrimping net.
Noël CowardTag: 1920s hayfever noel-coward
The prosecutor uttered the party line that would distinguish revue from burlesque for the next thirty years. "The difference is movement. On Broadway, unadorned female figures are used to artistic advantage in tableaux. They do not move.
Dita Von TeeseTag: history 1920s a-time-of-national-undress burlesque dita-von-teese part-2 p-36
Well-lit streets discourage sin, but don't overdo it.
William KennedyTag: politics history satire sin vice city urban-life jazz-age-stories 1920s bon-mots machine-politics
Roscoe was spiritually illegal, a bootlegger of the soul, a mythic creature made of words and wit and wild deeds and boundless memory.
William KennedyTag: prohibition jazz-age-stories 1920s
Billy's native arrogance might well have been a gift of miffed genes, then come to splendid definition through the tests to which a street like Broadway puts a young man on the make: tests designed to refine a breed, enforce a code, exclude all simps and gumps, and deliver into the city's life a man worthy of functioning in this age of nocturnal supremacy. Men like Billy Phelan, forged in the brass of Broadway, send, in the time of their splendor, telegraphic statements of mission: I, you bums, am a winner. And that message, however devoid of Christ-like other-cheekery, dooms the faint-hearted Scottys of the night, who must sludge along, never knowing how it feels to spill over with the small change of sassiness, how it feels to leave the spillover on the floor, more where that came from, pal. Leave it for the sweeper.
William KennedyTag: gambling jazz-age-stories pool 1920s hustling
How paltry are the traces left behind by a life, even one concentrated around those supposed things of permanence called words. We spend our time upon the earth and then disappear, and only one one-thousandth of what we were lasts. We send all those bottles out into the ocean and so few wash up on shore.
John DarntonTag: war journalism memoirs 1920s
Well, ha-jolly-ha to YOU, young Stiffie-- with knobs on!
P.G. WodehouseGolf shows your character.
Victoria BrownEverywhere was the atmosphere of a long debauch that had to end; the orchestras played too fast, the stakes were too high at the gambling tables, the players were so empty, so tired, secretly hoping to vanish together into sleep and ... maybe wake on a very distant morning and hear nothing, whatever, no shouting or crooning, find all things changed.
Malcolm CowleyTag: tiredness emptiness jazz gambling orchestra debauchery lost-generation 1920s
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