Thanks again for saving me. Someday, I'll save you too.
Catalog
Zelda Fitzgerald
Zelda Fitzgerald (/ˈzɛldə fɪtsˈdʒɛrəld/, née Sayre; July 24, 1900 – March 10, 1948) was a novelist, American socialite, and the wife of American author F. Scott Fitzgerald. Born in Montgomery, Alabama, she was noted for her beauty and high spirits, and was dubbed by her husband as "the first American Flapper". She and Scott became emblems of the Jazz Age, for which they are still celebrated. The immediate success of Scott's first novel This Side of Paradise (1920) brought them into contact with high society, but their marriage was plagued by wild drinking, infidelity and bitter recriminations. Ernest Hemingway, whom Zelda disliked, blamed her for Scott's declining literary output, though her extensive diaries provided much material for his fiction. After being diagnosed with manic depression, she was increasingly confined to specialist clinics, and the couple were living apart when Scott died suddenly in 1940. Zelda died 7 years later in a fire at her hospital in Asheville, North Carolina. A 1970 biography by Nancy Milford was on the short list of contenders for the Pulitzer Prize. In 1992, Zelda was inducted into the Alabama Women's Hall of Fame. Her life was dramatized in the 2017 TV series Z: The Beginning of Everythin
All these soft, warm nights going to waste when I ought to be lying in your arms under the moon.
And theres always my infinite love—You are a sweet person—the sweetest and dearest of all and I love you as I love my vanished youth— which is as much as a human heart can hold— filled with copper clouds like the after-math of cannon-fire, pre-war, civil-war clouds and I feel all empty and bored and…
Goodnight dear. If you were in my bed it might be the back of your head I was touching, where the hair is short, or it might be up in the front where it makes little caves above your head. But wherever it was, it would be the sweetest place, the sweetest place.
I love you, even if there isn’t any me, or any love, or even any life. I love you.
There’s nothing in all the world I want but you and your precious love. All the material things are nothing. I’d just hate to live a sordid, colorless existence because you’d soon love me less and less and I’d do anything — anything — to keep your heart for my own. I don’t want to live—I want to…
Excuse me for being so intellectual. I know you would prefer something nice and feminine and affectionate.
There’s nothing in all the world I want but you and your precious love. All the material things are nothing. I’d just hate to live a sordid, colorless existence because you’d soon love me less and less and I’d do anything — anything — to keep your heart for my own. I don’t want to live—I want to…
You're a necessity and a luxury...
Maybe I’m getting tired – I can’t think of anything but nights with you. I want them warm and silvery.
I love you, even if there isn’t any me, or any love, or even any life. I love you.
She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn’t boring.
She was conscious that the things she did were the things she had always wanted to do.
She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn't boring.
Why should all life be work, when we all can borrow? Let's think only of today, and not worry about tomorrow.
We quarrelled in the gray morning dew about morals; and made up over a red bathing suit.
Nobody hαs ever meαsured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.
And only weaklings...who lack courage and the power to feel they're right when the whole world says they're wrong, ever lose.
The trouble with emergencies is," she said, "that I always put on my finest underwear and then nothing happens."