F. Scott Fitzgerald Quotes

I am a man of lost faiths.

Daddy once said, "If you don't know what you believe, Annie, you'll be a lost soul.

In the face of all that is so wrong with the world, the very worst thing you can do is survive. And yet you must survive. It is this dilemma that makes us believe and cling to the lie that we have a soul, and that there is a God who cares about its fate.

I think there is no suffering greater than what is caused by the doubts of those who want to believe.

A large psychic void is left by a loss of faith. So many Catholics have tried so many things to replace it.

I have moved from certainty to doubt, from devotion to rebellion.

Some people tend to believe that I'm a strong believer, a strong Christian, but that's not true. I'm not a strong believer. I'm very weak.

I don't know what I believe in. I try not to think about it. I don't want to think about it.

You know, for a long time I became almost atheist. I believed in nothing. And it was tough for me to believe in anything at all because I had believed so strongly. And I divorced myself of spirituality, I think.

When did I stop being me?

Do I have no soul as punishment for not believing in the soul?

Behind my work was ambition, behind my love was personality, behind my purity was fear, behind my guidance the thirst for power. Now they are vanishing and I drift. I come, Mother, I come, in Thy warm bosom, floating wheresoever Thou takest me, in the voiceless, in the strange, in the wonderland, I come - a spectator, no more an actor.

I felt like I was literally losing myself as being the joyful, spiritual, passionate, exciting woman that I naturally had been.

Thank you, but I'm afraid I can't accept your compliment. You see, I'm an atheist, so if I'm also God, that would mean that I don't believe in myself, and at this point in my life, I don't need the added insecurity.

The majority of my patients consisted not of believers but of those who had lost their faith.

This story never really had a point. It’s just a lull - a skip in the record. We are addresses in ghost towns. We are old wishes that never came true. We are hand grenades (and every word you say pulls the pin). We are all gods, we are all monsters.

My life is superficial, takes no root in the deep world; I ask, When shall I die, and be relieved of the responsibility of seeinga Universe which I do not use? I wish to exchange this flash-of-lightning faith for continuous daylight, this fever-glow for a benign climate.

When you question what you believe, you leave the world, really, and what the world believes. It puts you in a very interesting position.

I feel, am mad as any writer must in one way be; why not make it real? I am too close to the bourgeois society of suburbia: too close to people I know I must sever my self from them, or be a part of their world: this half and half compromise is intolerable.

Not once more will/I be found with beings/who swallowed the rail of life//And one day I found myself with beings/who swallowed the nail of life/-as soon as I lost my matrix mamma,//and the being twisted under him,/and god poured me back to her/(the motherfucker).

This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his setting, is properly the feeling of absurdity.

The neurotic believes that life has meaning, but that his life hasn't.

I have been tortured with longing to believe ... and the yearning grows stronger the more cogent the intellectual difficulties stand in the way.

A man writes to throw off the poison which he has accumulated because of his false way of life. He is trying to recapture his innocence, yet all he succeeds in doing (by writing) is to inoculate the world with a virus of his disillusionment. No man would set a word down on paper if he had the courage to live out what he believed in.

She thought about her life and how lost she’d felt for most of it. She thought about the way that all truths she’d been taught to consider valuable invariably conflicted with the world as it was actually lived. How could a person be so utterly lost, yet remain living?