"What are you going to do?" "Can't say - run for president, write -" "Greenwich Village?" "Good heavens, no - I said write - not drink."
F. Scott Fitzgeraldbut there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of her body were continually smouldering.
F. Scott FitzgeraldHer beauty climbed the rolling slope, it came into the room, rustling ghost-like through the curtains.
F. Scott FitzgeraldI learned a little of beauty - enough to know that it had nothing to do with truth.
F. Scott Fitzgerald