Zelda Fitzgerald

Emptying the ashtrays was very expressive of myself. I just lump everything in a great heap which I have labeled __he past,_ and having thus emptied this deep reservoir that was once myself, I am ready to continue.

I don't want to live, I want to love first and live incidentally.

They hadn't much faith in travel, nor a great belief in a change of scene as a panacea for spiritual ills; they were simply glad to be going.

I have often told you that I am that little fish who swims about under a shark and, I believe, lives indelicately on its offal. Anyway, that is the way I am. Life moves over me in a vast black shadow and I swallow whatever it drops with relish, having learned in a very hard school that one cannot be both a parasite and enjoy self-nourishment without moving in worlds too fantastic for even my disordered imagination to people with meaning.

I love you, even if there isn__ any me, or any love, or even any life. I love you.

David, I__l fly for you, if you__l love me!___ly, then.___ can__ fly, but love me anyway.___oor wingless child!___s it so hard to love me?___o you think you are easy, my illusive possession?

I don__ want to live_ __ want to love first, and live_incidentally.

. . . she tried to weave the strength of her father and the young beauty of her first love with David, the happy oblivion of her teens and her warm protected childhood into a magic cloak.

And only weaklings...who lack courage and the power to feel they're right when the whole world says they're wrong, ever lose.

Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.

The purpose of life on earth is that the soul should grow - So Growl By doing what is right.

Nobody has ever measured even poets how much a heart can hold.

I don't want to live-I want to love first and live incidentally.

Nobody has ever measured not even poets how much the heart can hold.

She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn't boring.

The macabre who lived through the war have a story they loved to tell about the soldiers of the Foreign Legion giving a ball in the expanses around Verdun and dancing with the corpses. Alabama's continued brewing of the poisoned filter for a semiconscious banquet table, her insistence on the magic and glamor of life when she was already feeling its pulse like the throbbing of an amputated leg, had something of the same sinister quality.

She felt the essence of herself pulled finer and smaller like those streams of spun glass that pull and stretch till there remains but a glimmering illusion. Neither falling nor breaking, the stream spins finer. She felt herself very small and ecstatic. Alabama was in love.

A southern moon is a sodden moon, and sultry. When it swamps the fields and the rustling sandy roads and the sticky honeysuckle hedges in its sweet stagnation, your fight to hold on to reality is like a protestation against a first waft of ether.