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People tend to think I'm always aggressive and strong. The truth is, I've always been wracked with self-loathing, which leads me into terrible, self paralysing depressions. When I go down to this place, I feel so empty and overwhelmed I can barely move. But perversely, I find these traits in a man unacceptable I can't stand someone who can out-depress me. You know that scene in Babe where the farmer clog-dances for the pig? Sometimes I'm the sick pig and I need a farmer to cheer me up. And when things get bad, my boyfriend does dance for me, and it never fails to make me laugh. He's a pretty snappy dancer. Shirley Ann Manson		Saturday Feb 21, 2026
		Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969

About Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald (September 24, 1896 - December 21, 1940) was an American writer of novels and short stories, whose works have been seen as evocative of the Jazz Age, a term he himself allegedly coined. He is regarded as one of the greatest twentieth century writers. Fitzgerald was of the self-styled "Lost Generation," Americans born in the 1890s who came of age during World War I. He finished four novels, left a fifth unfinished, and wrote dozens of short stories that treat themes of youth, despair, and age.

Popular Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald Quotes

Vitality shows in not only the ability to persist but the ability to start over.

The kiss originated when the first male reptile licked the first female reptile, implying in a subtle, complimentary way that she was as succulent as the small reptile he had for dinner the night before.

Either you think or else others have to think for you and take power from you, pervert and discipline your natural tastes, civilize and sterilize you.

Egyptian Proverb: The worst things: To be in bed and sleep not, To want for one who comes not, To try to please and please not.

The hangover became a part of the day as well allowed-for as the Spanish siesta.

Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat.

One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pinprick, but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or of the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it.

There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.

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.

Thirtythe promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning briefcase of enthusiasm, thinning hair.

Almost everybody can be imagined as either a cat or a dog.

Draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I'll tell you a story.

No grand idea was ever born in a conference, but a lot of foolish ideas have died there.

All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath.

It was about then [1920] that I wrote a line which certain people will not let me forget: 'She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven.'

In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning.

... and thus we beat on, boats against the current ... born back ceaselessly into the past ...

If you're strong enough, there are no precedents.

Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her; If you can bounce high, bounce for her too, Till she cry 'Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, I must have you!'

Writers aren't exactly people ... they're a whole lot of people trying to be one person.

Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy.

It is in the thirties that we want friends. In the forties we know they won't save us any more than love did.

Her voice is full of money.

The victor belongs to the spoils.

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