I like France, where everybody thinks he's Napoleon — down here everybody thinks he's Christ. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart.

I can’t tell you just how wonderful she is. I don’t want you to know. I don’t want any one to know.

Girls like you are responsible for all the tiresome colorless marriages; all those ghastly inefficiencies that pass as feminine qualities. What a blow it must be when a man with imagination marries the beautiful bundle of clothes that he's been building ideals around, and finds that she's just a weak, whining, cowardly mass of affectations!