Francis Scott Fitzgerald

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

Francis Scott Fitzgerald Quotes

  • ''There are no second acts in American lives.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. The Last Tycoon, "Hollywood, ETC.," ed. Edmund Wilson (1941).
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  • ''Sometimes I think that idlers seem to be a special class for whom nothing can be planned, plead as one will with them—their only contribution to the human family is to warm a seat at the common table.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Letter, July 7, 1938, to his daughter, Frances "Scottie" Fitzgerald. The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, ed. Andrew Turnbull (1963).
  • ''Riches have never fascinated me, unless combined with the greatest charm or distinction.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. letter, Aug. 1936, to Ernest Hemingway. The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, ed. Andrew Turnbull (1963). Fitzgerald was defending himself against an attack by Hemingway in "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" published in Esquire of that month, in which he named Fitzgerald as feeling a "romantic awe" for the rich. When the story was collected in The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine Stories in 1938, Fitzgerald became the character "Julian." Also see Hemingway's comment under rich, the.
  • ''Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you—like music to the musician or Marxism to the Communist—or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Letter, August 3, 1940, to his daughter Frances Scott Fitzgerald. The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, ed. Andrew Turnbull (1963).
  • ''For awhile after you quit Keats all other poetry seems to be only whistling or humming.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. letter, Aug. 3, 1940, to his daughter Frances Scott Fitzgerald. The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, ed. Andrew Turnbull (1963). Fitzgerald described Ode on a Grecian Urn as "unbearably beautiful with every syllable as inevitable as the notes in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony" (same source).
  • ''I hate the place like poison with a sincere hatred.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Letter, January 10, 1935, to his agent. Published in As Ever, Scott Fitz, ed. Matthew J. Bruccoli (1973). Replying to a suggestion that Fitzgerald should return to Hollywood to work on a script of Tender Is the Night.
  • ''Often I think writing is a sheer paring away of oneself leaving always something thinner, barer, more meager.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Letter, April 27, 1940, to his daughter Frances Scott Fitzgerald. The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, ed. Andrew Turnbull (1963).
  • ''A big man has no time really to do anything but just sit and be big.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Amory Blaine, in "Restlessness," bk. 2, ch. 2, This Side of Paradise (1920).
  • ''After all, life hasn't much to offer except youth and I suppose for older people the love of youth in others.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Letter, June 10, 1917, to his favorite cousin Cecilia, written when he was 20. The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, ed. Andrew Turnbull (1963).
  • ''Beware the artist who's an intellectual also. The artist who doesn't fit.''
    F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), U.S. author. Amory Blaine, in This Side of Paradise, bk. 2, ch. 5 (1920).

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Best Poem of Francis Scott Fitzgerald

The Staying Up All Night

The warm fire.
The comfortable chairs.
The merry companions.
The stroke of twelve.
The wild suggestion.
The good sports.
The man who hasn't slept for weeks.
The people who have done it before.
The long anecdotes.
The best looking girl yawns.
The forced raillery.
The stroke of one.
The best looking girl goes to bed.
The stroke of two.
The empty pantry.
The lack of firewood.
The second best looking girl goes to bed.
The weather-beaten ones who don't.
The stroke of four.
The dozing off.
The amateur 'life of the party.'

Read the full of The Staying Up All Night

We Leave To-Night

WE leave to-night . . .
Silent, we filled the still, deserted street,
A column of dim gray,
And ghosts rose startled at the muffled beat
Along the moonless way;
The shadowy shipyards echoed to the feet
That turned from night and day.

And so we linger on the windless decks,

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