Don't be so anxious about it,' she laughed. 'I'm not used to being loved. I wouldn't know what to do; I never got the trick of it.' She looked down at him, shy and fatigued. 'So here we are. I told you years ago that I had the makings of Cinderella.' He took her hand; she drew it back instinctively and then replaced it in his. 'Beg your pardon. Not even used to being touched. But I'm not afraid of you, if you stay quiet and don't move suddenly.
The rich get richer and the poor get - children.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote highlights the disparity between the wealthy and the poor, suggesting that wealth leads to further opportunities, while poverty results in more challenges, often including raising children in difficult circumstances.
F. Scott Fitzgerald's quote underscores the persistent socio-economic divide in society, where those who have wealth and resources tend to accumulate even more, while those who are less fortunate often face greater struggles, including the complexities of raising children in an environment of limited means. This statement brings attention to the cyclical nature of poverty and wealth, indicating that while the affluent thrive, the challenges faced by the poor grow, often leading to a generational perpetuation of their circumstances.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a discussion about economic inequality, one might use this quote to illustrate the gap between social classes.
More from F. Scott Fitzgerald
All quotes βThe 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.
It was about then [1920] that I wrote a line which certain people will not let me forget: "She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven."
The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.
But you can love more than just one person, can't you?
A sudden gust of rain blew over them and then another - as if small liquid clouds were bouncing along the land. Lightning entered the sea far off and the air blew full of crackling thunder. The table cloths blew around the pillars. They blew and blew and blew. The flags twisted around the red chairs like live things, the banners were ragged, the corners of the table tore off through the burbling billowing ends of the cloths.
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At this time is freedom anything but the right to live as we wish? Nothing else.
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