Genius, Like Truth, Has A

Though Man Is The Only Beast That Can Write, He Has Small Reason To Be Proud Of It. When He Utters Something That Is Wise It Is Nothing That The River Horse Does Not Know, And Most Of His Creations Are The Result Of Accident.

Man Pines To Live But Cannot Endure The Days Of His Life.

We Are Ruled By Chance But Never Have Enough Patience To Accept Its Despotism.

What Is Most Appalling In An F. Scott Fitzgerald Book Is That It Is Peopleless Fiction: Fitzgerald Writes About Spectral, Muscledsuits; Dresses, Hats, And Sleeves Which Have Some Sort Of Vague, Libidinous Throb. These Are Plainly The Product Of Sickness.

I Have No Confidence In A Man Whose Faults You Cannot See.