Zelda Fitzgerald (née Sayre; July 24, 1900 – March 10, 1948) was an American socialite, novelist, painter and wife of author F. Scott Fitzgerald.
A vacuum can only exist, I imagine, by the things which enclose it.
Life has puffed and blown itself into a summer day, and clouds and spring billow over the heavens as if calendars were a listing of mathematical errors.
Youth doesn't need friends -- it only needs crowds.
I can't read or sleep. Without hope or youth or money I sit constantly wishing I were dead.
Oh, the secret life of man and woman--dreaming how much better we would be than we are if we were somebody else or even ourselves, and feeling that our estate has been unexploited to its fullest.
Father said conflict develops the character
I take a sun bath and listen to the hours, formulating, and disintegrating under the pines, and smell the resiny hardihood of the high noon hours. The world is lost in a blue haze of distances, and the immediate sleeps in a thin and finite sun.
Why should all life be work, when we all can borrow. Let's think only of today, and not worry about tomorrow.
By the time a person has achieved years adequate for choosing a direction, the die is cast and the moment has long since passed which determined the future.
Love is bitter and all there is, and that the rest is for the emotional beggars of the earth.
And, Joey, if you ever want to know about the japonicas and the daisy fields it will be alright that you have forgotten because I will be able to tell you about how it felt to be feeling that way you cannot quite remember – that will be for the time when something happens years from now that reminds you of now.
There's nothing on earth to do here but look at the view and eat. You can imagine the result since I do not like to look at views.
Millie Beggs, by the time she was forty-five, had become an emotional anarchist.
I wish I could write a beautiful book to break those hearts that are soon to cease to exist: a book of faith and small neat worlds and of people who live by the philosophies of popular songs.
A southern moon is a sodden moon, and sultry. When it swamps the fields and the rustling sandy roads and the sticky honeysuckle hedges in its sweet stagnation, your fight to hold on to reality is like a protestation against a first waft of ether.
I don't want to live. I want to love first, and live incidentally.
It seemed to Alabama that, reaching her goal, she would drive the devils that had driven her - that, in proving herself, she would achieve that peace which she imagined went only in surety of one’s self - that she would be able, through the medium of the dance, to command her emotions, to summon love or pity or happiness at will, having provided a channel through which they might flow. She drove herself mercilessly, and the summer dragged on.
I am really only myself when I'm somebody else whom I have endowed with these wonderful qualities from my imagination.
Looking for love is like asking for a new point of departure. . . another chance in life.
Everybody gives you belief for the asking,' she said to David, 'and so few people give you anything more to believe in than your own belief - just not letting you down, that's all. Its so hard to find a person who accepts responsibilities beyond what you ask. ' 'So easy to be loved - so hard to love. ' David answered