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.
ZELDA FITZGERALDDon’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.
ZELDA FITZGERALDLife 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.
ZELDA FITZGERALDBeing 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.
ZELDA FITZGERALDMemories should be sharp when one has nothing else to live for.
ZELDA FITZGERALDWomen sometimes seem to share a quiet, unalterable dogma of persecution that endows even the most sophisticated of them with the inarticulate poignancy of the peasant.
ZELDA FITZGERALDThe purpose of life on earth is that the soul should grow – So Growl By doing what is right.
ZELDA FITZGERALDNothing could have survived our life.
ZELDA FITZGERALDOne illusion is as good as another.
ZELDA FITZGERALDAnything incomprehensible has a sexual significance to many people under thirty-five.
ZELDA FITZGERALDNobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.
ZELDA FITZGERALDOh, 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.
ZELDA FITZGERALDI play the radio and moon about…and dream of Utopias where its always July the 24th 1935, in the middle of summer forever.
ZELDA FITZGERALDWhy is there happiness and comfort and excitement where you are and no where else in the world.
ZELDA FITZGERALDWe 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.
ZELDA FITZGERALDI believed I was a salamander, and it seems I am nothing but an impediment.
ZELDA FITZGERALDI 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.
ZELDA FITZGERALD