Zelda now claims to be in direct contact with Christ, William the Conqueror, Mary Stuart, Apollo and all the stock paraphernalia of insane-asylum jokes. For what she has really suffered, there is never a sober night that I do not pay a stark tribute of an hour to in the darkness. In an odd way, perhaps incredible to you, she was always my child [it was not reciprocal as it often is in marriages]. I was her great reality, often the only liaison agent who could make the world tangible to her.

F Scott Fitzgerald on his wife, Zelda, during their later years.

You can tell he’s an author, he’s put madness so interestingly.

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I find F Scott Fitzgerald to be quite an interesting person. Currently reading this collection after finishing off Harlan Coben’s Hold Tight [which was good, but a bit light really]. Then I plan on reading A Diamond As Big As The Ritz, also by Fitzgerald.

I really love the little bits of French in this story so far. I like being able to understand it :)

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An exclamation mark is like laughing at your own joke.

F Scott Fitzgerald.

My college flash drive was called Fitzgerald before I changed it to Fitzpatrick, Sander Cohen’s piano playing splicer.

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F Scott Fitzgerald, The Cut Glass Bowl.

I don’t do fate, but I like this paragraph. It reminds me of the Lord of the Flies’ [William Golding] monologue.

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His was a great sin who first invented conciousness. Let us lose it for a few hours.

F Scott Fitzgerald, The Diamond As Big As The Ritz.

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Everybody’s youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness.

F Scott Fitzgerald, The Diamond As Big As The Ritz.

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I have

A new favourite story. I’d like to say book, but strictly it’s not a book & even if it was, it’d be rather short. It’s one of F Scott Fitzgerald’s short stories - Crazy Sunday.

I like it’s thinness, it demonstrates how powerfully Fitzgerald builds up a picture of the upper echelons during the jazz era. It’s not a story I can relate to, but rather one I can feel as strongly as being in it, due to how it’s written. The other stories are just as good, just this one effected me more. I wanted it to go on & on, but alas, it’s only a short story.

Ah well, nearly finished a Diskworld I started on holiday too. Got another out of the library to be getting on with too :)

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Cycled down into town today for the heck of it & remembered that I got a book voucher thing from someone for my birthday. Immediately looking for F Scott Fitzgerald in Waterstones & found this, which been wanting to read this for a while now - ever since I read a series of short stories by him. 

Love the jazz age.

Excuse the mess, by the way. Lecture notes & half completed letters.

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‘After all, Anthony, it’s you who are very romantic & young. It’s you who are infinitely more susceptible & afraid of your calm being broken. It’s me who tries again & again to be moved - let myself go a thousand times & I’m always me. Nothing - quite - stirs me.’
‘Yet,’ he murmured after another long pause, ‘there was something about that little girl with her absurd tan that was eternally old - like me.’

Maury Noble, The Beautiful & Damned by F Scott Fitzgerald.

I see myself in Maury Noble. F Scott Fitzgerald builds some wonderful characters & explains them so gracefully.

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The clerk thought that Gloria was beautiful. He did not think that anything so beautiful as Gloria could be moral.

The Beautiful & Damned, F Scott Fitzgerald.

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The Great Gatsby is starting in five minutes

My mum tweeted me telling me that this was on. I’m glad Amy reminded me, as F Scott Fitzgerald is one of my favourite authors.

Listening on my phone as I make a cake :)

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The large room was full of people. One of girls in yellow was playing the piano, & beside her stood a tall, red-haired young lady from a famous chorus, engaged in song. She had drunk a quantity of champagne, & during the course of her song she had decided, ineptly, that everything was very, very sad - she was not only singing, she was weeping too. Whenever there was a pause in the song, she filled it with gasping, broken sobs, & then took up the lyric in a quavering soprano. The tears coursed down her cheeks - not freely, however, for when they came into contact with her heavily beaded eyelashes, they assumed an inky colour, & pursued the rest of their way in their slow black rivulets.

The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald.

A kind of beautiful brokenness which reflects most of Fitzgerald’s writings, this passage stood out to me. I only started reading it yesterday & I’d have finished it today if we didn’t go out earlier.

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Just finished Of Mice & Men, now onto this [favourite author].

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That’s the tragedy. I get everything I want, & now it means nothing.

Mr Rodriguez, The Last Tycoon [F Scott Fitzgerald].

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Past