I play the radio and moon about...and dream of Utopias where its always July the 24th 1935, in the middle of summer… — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
A southern moon is a sodden moon, and sultry. When it swamps the fields and the rustling sandy roads and the sticky… — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
Something in me vibrates to a dusky, dreamy smell of dying moons and shadows. — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
The sky lay over the city like a map showing the strata of things and the big full moon toppled over in… — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
A vacuum can only exist, I imagine, by the things which enclose it. — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
“Goodnight dear. If you were in my bed it might be the back of your head I was touching, where the hair is short,… — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
I play the radio and moon about...and dream of Utopias where its always July the 24th 1935, in the middle of summer forever. — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
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… — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
I suppose all we can really share with people is a taste for the same kinds of weather. — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
Millie Beggs, by the time she was forty-five, had become an emotional anarchist. — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
“Everybody gives you belief for the asking,” she said to David, “and so few people give you anything more to believe in than your… — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
