F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Notebooks

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Notebooks

  • Days of this February were white and magical, the nights were starry and crystalline.
  • The town lay under a cold glory.
  • Dyed Siberian horse. As thin as a repeated dream.
  • The sea was coming up in little intimidating rushes.
  • The island floated, a boat becalmed, upon the almost perceptible curve of the world.
  • Lost in the immensity of surfaceless blue sky like air piled on air.
  • On the great swell of the Blue Danube, the summer ball rocked into motion.
  • A circus ring for ponies in country houses.
  • The tense, sunny room seemed romantic to Becky, with its odor of esoteric gases, the faint perfumes of future knowledge, the low electric sizz in the glass cells.
  • A rambling frame structure that had been a residence in the 80’s, the country poorhouse in the 1900’s, and now was a residence again.
  • The groans of moribund plumbing.
  • The silvery “Hey!” of a telephone.
  • Whining, tinkling hoochie-coochie show.

 

Author: Viet Nguyen

I thought what I had do was, I had pretend I was one of those Deaf Mutes

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