Happy Birthday, F. Scott Fitzgerald!
One of my very favorite writers. Some quotes:
The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.
Cut out all these exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.
There used to be two kinds of kisses. First when girls were kissed and deserted; second, when they were engaged. Now there's a third kind, where the man is kissed and deserted. If Mr. Jones of the nineties bragged he'd kissed a girl, everyone knew he was through with her. If Mr. Jones of 1919 brags the same everyone knows it's because he can't kiss her any more. Given a decent start any girl can beat a man nowadays.
In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.
The victor belongs to the spoils.
Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues.
I hear you were seen running through Portugal in used B.V.D.'s, chewing ground glass and collecting material for a story about boule players; that you were publicity man for Lindbergh; that you have finished a novel a hundred thousand words long consisting entirely of the word "balls" used in new groupings; that you have been naturalized a Spaniard, dress always in a wine-skin with "zipper" vent and are engaged in bootlegging Spanish Fly between St. Sebastian and Biarritz where your agents sprinkle it on the floor of the Casino. I hope I have been misinformed but, alas!, it all has too true a ring. [from a letter to Hemingway]
The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.
Cut out all these exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.
There used to be two kinds of kisses. First when girls were kissed and deserted; second, when they were engaged. Now there's a third kind, where the man is kissed and deserted. If Mr. Jones of the nineties bragged he'd kissed a girl, everyone knew he was through with her. If Mr. Jones of 1919 brags the same everyone knows it's because he can't kiss her any more. Given a decent start any girl can beat a man nowadays.
In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.
The victor belongs to the spoils.
Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues.
I hear you were seen running through Portugal in used B.V.D.'s, chewing ground glass and collecting material for a story about boule players; that you were publicity man for Lindbergh; that you have finished a novel a hundred thousand words long consisting entirely of the word "balls" used in new groupings; that you have been naturalized a Spaniard, dress always in a wine-skin with "zipper" vent and are engaged in bootlegging Spanish Fly between St. Sebastian and Biarritz where your agents sprinkle it on the floor of the Casino. I hope I have been misinformed but, alas!, it all has too true a ring. [from a letter to Hemingway]
fun!
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