Life has puffed and blown itself into a summer day, and clouds and spring billow over the heavens as if calendars were a listing of mathematical errors. — 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
“I love you anyway-even if there isn't any me or any love or even any life- I love you.” — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
Look closer and you'll see something extraordinary, mystifying, something real and true. We have never been what we seemed. — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
I can't read or sleep. Without hope or youth or money I sit constantly wishing I were dead. — Zelda Fitzgerald Copy Share Image
