69 ordspråk av F. Scott Fitzgerald

F. Scott Fitzgerald

F. Scott Fitzgerald föddes den 24 september 1896 och dog den 21 desember 1940 - amerikansk författare.
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Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock....his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him.

Nick, on the Buchanans: "They were careless people, Tom and Daisy -- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made"

I hope she'll be a fool - that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool....You see, I think everything's terrible anyhow....And I know. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.

[Gatsby] stretched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast...and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.

He's a bootlegger....One time he killed a man who found out that he was nephew to Von Hindenburg and second cousin to the devil.

The truth was that Jay Gatsby…sprang from his Platonic conception of himself.

His parents were shiftless and unsuccessful farm people - his imagination had never really accepted them as his parents at all. The truth was that Jay Gatsby of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God...and he must be about His Father's business, the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious beauty. So he invented...Jay Gatsby...and to this conception he was faithful to the end.

And 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.

He had committed himself to the following of a grail.

This is a valley of ashes - a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat…

I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited. People were not invited - they went there.

The Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe

his [Gatsby] career as Trimalchio was over.

What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon? Cried Daisy, and the day after that, and the next thirty years?

’Civilization’s going to pieces,’ broke out Tom violently. ‘I’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read The Rise of the Colored Empires by this man Goddard?’

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