Zelda Fitzgerald Quotes - Page 2

It is the loose ends with which men hang themselves.

Looking for love is like asking for a new point of departure ... another chance in life.

Why do we spend years using up our bodies to nurture our minds with experience and find our minds turning then to our exhausted bodies for solace?

Don't you think I was made for you? I feel like you had me ordered - and I was delivered to you - to be worn. I want you to wear me, like a watch-charm or a buttonhole bouquet.

Father said conflict develops the character

We walked at night towards a cafe blooming with Japanese lanterns and I followed your white shoes gleaming like radium in the damp darkness. Rising off the water, lights flickered an invitation far enough away to be interpreted as we liked; to shimmer glamourously behind the silhouette of retrospective good times when we still believed in summer hotels and the philosophies of popular songs.

["The Sun Also Rises" is about] bullfighting, bullslinging and bullsh[*]t.

And only weaklings...who lack courage and the power to feel they're right when the whole world says they're wrong, ever lose.

I remember every single spot of light that ever gouged a shadow beside your bones.

Nothing annoys me more than having the most trivial action analyzed and explained.

We get something to do and as soon as we've got it, it gets us.

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.

People are like almanacs, Bonnie - you never can find the information you're looking for, but the casual reading is well worth the trouble.

Love is bitter and all there is, and that the rest is for the emotional beggars of the earth.

I suppose all we can really share with people is a taste for the same kinds of weather.

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.

It seems to me that on one page I recognized a portion of an old diary of mine which mysteriously disappeared shortly after my marriage, and, also, scraps of letters which, though considerably edited, sound to me vaguely familiar. In fact, Mr. Fitzgerald (I believe that is how he spells his name) seems to believe that plagiarism begins at home.

Why should all life be work, when we all can borrow. Let's think only of today, and not worry about tomorrow.

We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising. I still believe that one can learn to play the piano by mail and that mud will give you a perfect complexion.

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.

Nobody has ever been able to experience what they have thoroughly understood - or understand what they have experienced until they have achieved a detachment that renders them incapable of repeating the experience.

Oh, we are going to be so happy away from all the things that almost got us but couldn't quite because we were too smart for them!

Being in love, she concluded, is simply a presentation of our pasts to another individual, mostly packages so unwieldy that we can no longer manage the loosened strings alone.

She felt the essence of herself pulled finer and smaller like those streams of spun glass that pull and stretch till there remains but a glimmering illusion. Neither falling nor breaking, the stream spins finer. She felt herself very small and ecstatic. Alabama was in love.

Death is the only real elegance.