Category: F. Scott Fitzgerald
I wasn’t actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.
They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.
I love her, and that’s the beginning and end of everything.
Human sympathy has its limits.
You’ve got an awfully kissable mouth.
My God,’ he gasped, ‘you’re fun to kiss.
Forgotten is forgiven.
But I suppose you must touch life in order to spring from it.
