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.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Tag: jazz-age-stories the-diamond-as-big-as-the-ritz



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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 Fitzgerald

Tag: fitzgerald jazz-age-stories 1920s amecian-fiction



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Well-lit streets discourage sin, but don't overdo it.

William Kennedy

Tag: politics history satire sin vice city urban-life jazz-age-stories 1920s bon-mots machine-politics



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Roscoe was spiritually illegal, a bootlegger of the soul, a mythic creature made of words and wit and wild deeds and boundless memory.

William Kennedy

Tag: prohibition jazz-age-stories 1920s



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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 Kennedy

Tag: gambling jazz-age-stories pool 1920s hustling



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I live in a house over there on the Island, and in that house there is a man waiting for me. When he drove up at the door I drove out of the dock because he says I’m his ideal.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Tag: women america short-stories american-dream fitzgerald jazz-age-stories



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