His youth seemed never so vanished as now in the contrast between the utter loneliness of this visit and that riotous, joyful party of four years before. Things that had been the merest commonplaces of his life then, deep sleep, the sense of beauty around him, all desire, had flown away and the gaps they left were filled only with the great listlessness of his disillusion.
F. Scott FitzgeraldI wish I could write. I get these ideas but I never seem to be able to put them in words.
F. Scott FitzgeraldFrom the ruins, lonely and inexplicable as the sphinx, rose the Empire State Building.
F. Scott FitzgeraldMany nights he lay there dreaming awake of secret cafés in Mont Marte, where ivory women delved in romantic mysteries with diplomats and soldiers of fortune, while orchestras played Hungarian waltzes and the air was thick and exotic with intrigue and moonlight and adventure.
F. Scott Fitzgerald