Quotes from F. Scott Fitzgerald

Es inevitablemente triste mirar con nuevos ojos cosas a las que ya hemos aplicado nuestra propia capacidad de enfoque.

A full moon drenched the road to the lustreless color of platinum, and late-blooming harvest flowers breathed into the motionless air aromas that were like low, half-heard laughter.

Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction — Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away.

When I meet a man that doesn't bore me to death after two weeks, perhaps it'll be different.

Y entonces, gracias al sol y a los increíbles brotes de hojas que nacían en los árboles, a la manera como crecen las cosas en las películas de cámara rápida, sentí la familiar convicción de que la vida estaba empezando de nuevo con el verano

Drunk at 20, wrecked at 30, dead at 40. Drunk at 21, human at 31, mellow at 41, dead at 51.

mas carregava o excesso de carne com sensualidade, como algumas mulheres.

But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat's shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand. So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight. *

He fought with a desire to kiss her again, even tenderly, and began to tell her that she was being unwise, but before he got really started at this handsome project, she was in his arms again, and whispering something that he had to accept, since it was wrapped up in a kiss.

The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea. "Look at that," she whispered, and then after a moment: "I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.

I'm yours — you know it.

She [suddenly]: I like you. He: Don't. She: Modest too-- He: I'm afraid of you. I'm always afraid of a girl--until I've kissed her. She [emphatically]: My dear boy, the war is over. He: So I'll always be afraid of you. She [rather sadly]: I suppose you will [A slight hesitation on both their parts.]

It's a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue and, moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that everybody else is so blind that they don't see or care. Perhaps Daisy never went in for amour at all—and yet there's something in that voice of hers….

But the brilliance, the versatility of madness is akin to the resourcefulness of water seeping through, over, and around a dike.

She [dreamily]: I've kissed dozens of men. I suppose I'll kiss dozens more. He [abstractedly]: Yes, I suppose you could--like that. She: Most people like the way I kiss. He [remembering himself]: Good Lord, yes. Kiss me more, Rosalind. She: No-- my curiosity is generally satisfied at one.

Do all the Americans in Paris just shoot at each other all the time?

epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

He [suddenly]: I don't want to fall in love with you-- She [raising her eyebrows]: Nobody asked you to. He [continuing coldly]: But I probably will.

He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American—

So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight—watching over nothing.

La deshonestidad femenina es algo que no se puede criticar en serio

Jacques La Borwitz had his points, no doubt, but so have the sub-microscopic protozoa, so has a dog prowling for a bitch and a bone. -Cecelia Brady

Parfait, ai-je dit, je suis contente que ce soit une fille. J'espère qu'elle sera idiote. Pour une fille, c'est la meilleure place à tenir sur terre — celle d'une ravissante petite idiote.

Elle se leva dès qu'il fut sorti, s'approcha de Gatsby, leva son visage vers lui, l'embrassa sur les lèvres. — Je vous aime et vous le savez, murmura-t-elle.