Francis Scott Fitzgerald

((1896 - 1940) / Saint Paul, Minnesota, United States)

Francis Scott Fitzgerald Quotes

  • ''It occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Nick Carraway, in The Great Gatsby, ch. 7 (1925). He is the narrator.
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  • ''Either you think—or else others have to think for you and take power from you, pervert and discipline your natural tastes, civilize and sterilize you.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Nicole's thoughts, in Tender Is the Night, bk. 3, ch. 7 (1934).
  • ''His life was a sort of dream, as are most lives with the mainspring left out.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. "Notebook C," The Crack-Up, ed. by Edmund Wilson (1945).
  • ''The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaieties, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. "Notebook D," The Crack-Up, ed. Edmund Wilson (1945).
  • ''Switzerland is a country where very few things begin, but many things end.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. "Notebook E," The Crack-Up, ed. Edmund Wilson (1945).
  • ''Optimism is the content of small men in high places.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. "Notebook E," The Crack-Up, ed. Edmund Wilson (1945).

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Best Poem of Francis Scott Fitzgerald

Marching Streets

Death slays the moon and the long dark deepens,
Hastens to the city, to the drear stone-heaps,
Films all eyes and whispers on the corners,
Whispers to the corners that the last soul sleeps.

Gay grow the streets now torched by yellow lamplight,
March all directions with a long sure tread.
East, west they wander through the blinded city,
Rattle on the windows like the wan-faced dead.

Ears full of throbbing, a babe awakens startled,
Sends a tiny whimper to the still gaunt room.
Arms of the mother tighten round it gently,
Deaf to the patter in the ...

Read the full of Marching Streets

City Dusk

COME out . . . . out
To this inevitable night of mine
Oh you drinker of new wine,
Here's pageantry . . . . Here's carnival,
Rich dusk, dim streets and all
The whispering of city night . . . .

I have closed my book of fading harmonies,
(The shadows fell across me in the park)

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