Quotes By F Scott Fitzgerald On Love Novels & Stories

I laughed at myself. "I know now that we have figured this out. You need to go home to your fiancée she just texted me saying she is worried." "Right." I closed my eyes for a brief moment trying to consume everything. "Listen Angelo. We can choose who we like but when it comes to those whom we love. I'm sorry but you have no say." He paused. "That's a qoute by some smart person if it wasn't Shakespeare but you get my point." "Thanks Brad." I sighed. I didn't know if I was thanking him for being there or for helping me come to terms with my own feelings... "Anytime."

She asked motioning to the line I had offered as she turned to face me. "That love is beautiful, no matter who or what you love," I replied softly looking at the dirt trail before me, since the people in this town travelled by carriages, there weren't any roads to- "There are a lot of those in the book, just one line across the page with no context," "That's because I had that book made, I took my favourite quotes and placed them together," I confessed "So what's the story behind your quote?" She asked and I smiled nervously as I glanced over to her clearing my throat before saying.

He asked me, ever so randomly. I furrowed my brows in confusion, finding it hard to remember. "You said 'I'm sorry Dean, but this is how we end'." He reminded me. I looked at him, still trying to understand why he made that reference. "And as time passed, and I started to heal," he went on, "I could think about our memories without feeling so much pain and there was a particular one that always crossed my mind." I waited for him to reveal what it was. "True love stories never have endings." He said softly. "Richard Bach."

A napkin with her doodles on it spirals and stars and that one quote she used to say when things got hard: “Sometimes love isn’t about staying. It’s about knowing when not to make someone drown for your comfort.” He sat down with the box beside him, the city humming faintly outside. He remembered the day she’d left. How she hadn’t slammed the door. How she’d simply looked at him eyes quiet, tired, done. And how, for a second, he’d wanted to call her back. But pride had wrapped around his throat like a hand and squeezed until nothing came out.

Then he looked back at me, "Oh." I chuckled, "Yeah." "F. Scott Fitzgerald." He started walking, "Very beautiful quote, that is." "I didn't think you'd know that it was from him." I walked beside him. "Are you secretly a lover of literature, Dean Ryan?" "Not really." He chuckled softly. "I just know a couple quotes." "Wow." I smiled. "Like?" "Um," He thought. "You can't blame gravity for falling in love." "Albert Einstein." I said and he nodded. "I'm impressed."

“Sophia and I are committed to building a strong foundation. I love her more than anything, and I want to give her the best life possible.” Thompson smiled, his gaze softening. “I know you do, Fabio. And I see that love in both of you. But love, as you know, is not always easy. It requires patience, understanding, and a willingness to face challenges together.” He paused, then quoted softly, “’Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.’” He looked at Fabio, his eyes full of meaning. “Shakespeare knew a thing or two about love.”

"Love, a potent word entwined with the unity of a single soul spanning two bodies. Some endure an eternity yearning for a mere ounce of affection, while others bask in its abundance, indifferent. Gazing at mate, I lamented, 'We often fail to grasp the value of what we possess until it slips through our fingers.” “Love, it's that extraordinary ache when someone shatters your heart, and yet, miraculously, you find the strength to love them with every fractured piece that remains.” Saying this, I excused myself and fled from there, the echo of unspoken words reverberated within, a silent plea for understanding in a world painted with the hues of love and pain.

theater to take up some other, less dangerous occupation. I will love you if you drop your raincoat on the floor instead of hanging it up and I will love you if you betray your father. I will love you even if you announce that the poetry of Edgar Guest is the best in the world and even if you announce that the work of Zilpha Keatley Snyder is unbearably tedious. I will love you if you abandon the theremin and take up the harmonica and I will love you if you donate your marmosets to the zoo and your tree frogs to M. I will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear the

“Although you appear nothing more than a spec in the night. Even then, you pierce the dark with light. To them it didn’t matter, but to me it shone so bright. Your gravity brought in the ocean’s tide. “Some say you’re a myth, some say you’re made of cheese. Caught in your embrace, weakness buckled my knees. Your presence may never light up a room, but even then You light my darkest nights like the brightest moon.” "How could an inconsequential existence such as mine ever cross a mind as developed as yours. So I am just going to hide in the shadows, As your light illuminate me forever more..."

In response to my icy silence, he takes the fry and tosses it into his mouth, “You can consider Matthew to be like my love for burgers and wings. Totally bad for me, and something that I should probably ditch, but it might take some time to actually getting around to doing.” “It truly amazes me how fast you can switch a suggestion to a conversation about Matthew.” I say before taking a large swig of my cocktail, “If anything, that just kind of proves what my Uncle Raul says about people’s obsession with love.” “Oh that weird metaphor about the sticky note?” He asks. I set the glass onto the table and clear my throat of any lingering taste of tequila, “It’s not weird, at best it’s weirdly poi