Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald (July 24, 1900 – March 10, 1948), born Zelda Sayre in Montgomery, Alabama, was an American novelist and the wife of writer F. Scott Fitzgerald. She was an icon of the 1920s—dubbed by her husband 'the first American Flapper.' After the success of his first novel, This Side of Paradise (1920), the Fitzgeralds became celebrities. (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
All I want to be is very young always and very irresponsible and to feel that my life is my own- to live and be happy and die in my own way to please myself.
By the time a person has achieved years adequate for choosing a direction, the die is cast and the moment has long since passed which determined the future.
Death is the only real elegance.
I am only really myself when I'm somebody else whom I have endowed with these wonderful qualities from my imagination.
I don't want to live. I want to love first, and live incidentally.
I just lump everything in a great heap which I have labeled 'the past,' and, having thus emptied this deep reservoir that was once myself, I am ready to continue.
I suppose all we can really share with people is a taste for the same kinds of weather.
I wish I could write a beautiful book to break those hearts that are soon to cease to exist: a book of faith and small neat worlds and of people who live by the philosophies of popular songs.
It is the loose ends with which men hang themselves.
Looking for love is like asking for a new point of departure... another chance in life.
Most people hew the battlements of life from compromise, erecting their impregnable keeps from judicious submissions, fabricating their philosophical drawbridges from emotional retractions and scalding marauders in the boiling oil of sour grapes.
Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the human heart can hold.
Oh, the secret life of man and woman- dreaming how much better we would be than we are if we were somebody else or even ourselves, and feeling that our estate has been unexploited to its fullest.
People are like almanacs... you never can find the information you're looking for, but the casual reading is well worth the trouble.
She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn't boring.
The trouble with emergencies is... that I always put on my finest underwear and then nothing happens.
We get something to do and as soon as we've got it, it gets us.
We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising. I still believe that one can learn to play the piano by mail and that mud will give you a perfect complexion.
Why do we spend years using up our bodies to nurture our minds with experience and find our minds turning then to our exhausted bodies for solace?
Women sometimes seem to share a quiet, unalterable dogma of persecution that endows even the most sophisticated of them with the inarticulate poignancy of the peasant.
Women, despite the fact that nine out of ten of them go through life with a death-bed air either of snatching-the-last-moment or with martyr-resignation, do not die tomorrow- or the next day. They have to live on to any one of many bitter ends.
Youth doesn't need friends- it only needs crowds.