F. Scott Fitzgerald Quotes

But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

The beauty that addresses itself to the eyes is only the spell of the moment; the eye of the body is not always that of the soul.

Honey, I am going to my grave with my eyelashes and my makeup on.

The thing about praising beauty is that good looks are an unforgiving task- master, a Forth Bridge of a maintenance job. The passing years present their accounts. Younger models become available.

Beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast.

Aesthetic experiences are powerful, to be sure, and probably inescapable, but Nature will not remain effective for very long.

Beauty endures only for as long as it can be seen; goodness, beautiful today, will remain so tomorrow.

That's how I always want to remember my time with you. Like a pure white light, breathtaking to behold.

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

A frail gift is beauty, which grows less as time draws on, and is devoured by its own years.

Oh, beauty, ever ancient and ever new.

Everything beautiful has a mark of eternity.

Time can but make her beauty over again.

For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.

I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die.

Elegance is not catching somebody's eyes, it's staying in somebody's memory

He really was beautiful. I know boys aren’t supposed to be, but he was.

Tell me now in what hidden way isLady Flora the lovely Roman?Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,Neither of them the fairer woman?Where is Echo, beheld of no man,Only heard on river and mere-She whose beauty was more than human?-But where are the snows of yester-year?

Tis hard with respect to Beauty, that its possessor should not have a life enjoyment of it, but be compelled to resign it after, at the most, some forty years lease

Looking back over sixty-odd years, life is like a piece of string with knots in it, the knots being those moments that live in the mind forever, and the intervals being hazy, half-recalled times when I have a fair idea of what was happenng, in a general way, but cannot be sure of dates or places or even the exact order in which events took place.

Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal; But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies; the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.