F. Scott Fitzgerald

Love is fragile -- she was thinking -- but perhaps the pieces are saved, the things that hovered on lips, that might have been said. The new love-words, the tenderness learned, and treasured up for the next lover.

The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain.

An artist is someone who can hold two opposing viewpoints and still remain fully functional.

There is a moment—Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word—something that makes it worth while.

When a girl feels that she’s perfectly groomed and dressed she can forget that part of her. That’s charm

It is youth’s felicity as well as its insufficiency that it can never live in the present, but must always be measuring up the day against its own radiantly imagined future

The helpless ecstasy of loosing himself in her charm was a powerful opiate rather than a tonic.

but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game

I hope something happens. I'm restless as the devil and have a horror of getting fat or falling in love and growing domestic.

I am too much a moralist at heart, and really want to preach at people in some acceptable form, rather than entertain them.

France was a land, England was a people, but America, having about it still that quality of the idea, was harder to utter - it was the graves at Shiloh and the tired, drawn, nervous faces of its great men, and the country boys dying in the Argonne for a phrase that was empty before their bodies withered. It was a willingness of the heart.

The first lights of the evening were springing into pale existence. The Ferris wheel, pricked out now in lights, revolved leisurely through the dusk; a few empty cars of the roller coaster rattled overhead.

Long afterward Amory thought of sophomore spring as the happiest time of his life. His ideas were in tune with life as he found it; he wanted no more than to drift and dream and enjoy a dozen new-found friendships through the April afternoons.

The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun.

Think how you love me,' she whispered. 'I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember.' You'll always be like this to me.' Oh no; but promise me you'll remember.' Her tears were falling. 'I'll be different, but somewhere lost inside me there'll always be the person I am tonight.

I was within and without. Simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.

When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. That's my middle-west - not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow.

New friends can often have a better time together than old friends.

She wanted to exist only as a conscious flower, prolonging and preserving herself

And after reading Thoreau I felt how much I have lost by leaving nature out of my life.

Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them-with his smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro’s troubled history and sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It appreciated fully the chain of national circumstances, which had elicited this tribute from Montenegro’s warm little heart. My incredulity was submerged in fascination now; it was like skimming hastily through a dozen magazines.