F Scott Fitzgerald Quotes

The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you are not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for that sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul.

I love her, and that’s the beginning and end of everything.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.

The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.

I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go.

It’s a funny thing about life; if you refuse to accept anything but the best, you very often get it.

You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.

In the end, we’ll all become stories.

F Scott Fitzgerald Quotes part 2

Great ideas are born from great solitude.

Trouble has no necessary connection with discouragement. Discouragement has a germ of its own, as different from trouble as arthritis is different from a stiff joint.

Here’s to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.

A great social success is a pretty girl who plays her cards as carefully as if she were plain.

Writers aren’t exactly people…they’re a whole bunch of people trying to be one person.

I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.

There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.

I’m not sure what I’ll do, but—well, I want to go places and see people. I want my mind to grow. I want to live where things happen on a big scale.

Youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness.

An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmasters of everafterwards.

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.

Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy.

You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——

I just want you to know that you’re very special… and the only reason I’m telling you is that I don’t know if anyone else ever has.

You’ll get along beautifully in America … Everybody I’m afraid of in some way, and that’s why I’m better than you are.

They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.

An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmasters of everafterward.

It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory.

The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.

You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’

Once one is caught up into the material world not one person in ten thousand finds the time to form literary taste, to examine the validity of philosophic concepts for himself, or to form what, for lack of a better phrase, I might call the wise and tragic sense of life.

The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American. It is more fun for an intelligent person to live in an intelligent country. France has the only two things toward which we drift as we grow older—intelligence and good manners.

Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy.

Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow fast in the movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

Why do you like me, I asked her one night, Because you’re… not… repulsive, she said.

There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

A sense of beauty is a secret weapon for a writer; it can only be used when it is recognized.

The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.

Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders.

There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.

The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.

Life is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat; the redeeming things are not happiness and pleasure but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle.

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for that sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul.