F. Scott Fitzgerald
Francis Scott Fitzgerald was born on September 24, 1896, in Saint Paul, a city that formed the early backdrop of his American upbringing. A citizen of the United States, he was educated at Nardin Academy, St. Paul Academy and Summit School, and Princeton University before establishing himself as a writer working in the English language.
Fitzgerald worked across multiple forms, holding occupations as a novelist, short story writer, screenwriter, and playwright. His writing is associated with the modernist movement. Among his notable works, The Great Gatsby stands as one of his most recognized novels, while Tender Is the Night represents another significant contribution to his body of fiction. A fifth novel, The Love of the Last Tycoon, remained unfinished at the time of his death and was published posthumously. In recognition of his contributions, Fitzgerald received the New Jersey Hall of Fame award.
Fitzgerald died on December 21, 1940, in Hollywood. His authorized catalog entry — Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott), 1896–1940 — marks the span of a career that carried him from Saint Paul to Hollywood, where his life came to its close.
Quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald
F. Scott Fitzgerald's insights on:
As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.
Experience is not worth the getting. It’s not a thing that happens pleasantly to a passive you – it’s a wall that an active you runs up against.
Every act of life, from the morning toothbrush to the friend at dinner, became an effort. I hated the night when I couldn’t sleep and I hated the day because it went toward night.
At the gray tea hour there were always rooms that throbbed incessantly with this low, sweet fever, while fresh faces drifted here and there like rose petals blown by the sad horns around the floor.
I love New York on summer afternoons when everyone’s away. There’s something very sensuous about it – overripe, as if all sorts of funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.
There is a moment – Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word – something that makes it worth while.
One hurries through, even though there’s time; the past, the continent, is behind; the future is the glowing mouth in the side of the ship; the dim, turbulent alley is too confusedly the present.