The best way to enjoy F. Scott Fitzgerald is in a tuxedo by a pond surrounded by flowers.
Was it the infinite sadness of her eyes that drew him, or the mirror
of himself that he found in the gorgeous clarity of her mind?
I'm a cynical idealist.
It's not life that's complicated.
It's the struggle to control and guide life.
If we could only learn to look on evil as evil,
whether it's clothed in filth, or monotony, or magnificence.
I know myself, but that is all.
He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.
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