Tender Is The Night Quotes by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Joyce Carol Oates, John Keats, David Nicholls and many others.
Somewhere inside me thereвЂ™ll always be the person I am to-night
Later she remembered all the hours of the afternoon as happy — one of those uneventful times that seem at the moment only a link between past and future pleasure, but turn out to have been the pleasure itself.
Good manners are an admission that everybody is so tender that they have to be handled with gloves. Now, human respectвЂ”you don’t call a man a coward or a liar lightly, but if you spend your life sparing people’s feelings and feeding their vanity, you get so you can’t distinguish what should be respected in them.
Actually thatвЂ™s my secret вЂ” I canвЂ™t even talk about you to anybody because I donвЂ™t want any more people to know how wonderful you are.
She smiled, a moving childish smile that was like all the lost youth in the world.
It is not necessarily poverty of spirit that makes a woman surround herself with life – it can be a superabundance of interest.
Writers are notoriously unable to know about themselves. Faulkner thought ‘The Fable’ was his best novel. F. Scott Fitzgerald liked ‘Tender Is the Night,’ an experimental novel.
When you’re older you’ll know what people who love suffer. The agony. It’s better to be cold and young than to love. It’s happened to me before but never like this – so accidental – just when everything was going well.
was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music–do I wake or sleep?
New friends can often have a better time together than old friends.
If you spend your life sparing peopleвЂ™s feelings and feeding their vanity, you get so you canвЂ™t distinguish what should be respected in them.
Hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you.
The strongest guard is placed at the gateway to nothing. Maybe because the condition of emptiness is too shameful to be divulged.
Well, you never knew exactly how much space you occupied in people’s lives.
I am tired of knowing nothing and being reminded of it all the time.
Already with thee! tender is the night. . . But here there is no light. . .
She smiled at him, making sure that the smile gathered up everything inside her and directed it toward him, making him a profound promise of herself for so little, for the beat of a response, the assurance of a complimentary vibration in him.