F. Scott Fitzgerald Quote

I'm sorry I was short with him--but I don't like a man to approach me telling me it for my sake.Maybe it was, said WylieIt's poor technique.I'd all for it, said Wylie. I'm vain as a woman. If anybody pretends to be interested in me, I'll ask for more. I like advice.Stahr shook his head distastefully. Wylie kept on ribbing him--he was one of those to whom this privilege was permitted. You fall for some kinds of flattery, he said. this 'little Napoleon stuff.'It makes me sick, said Stahr, but it's not as bad as some man trying to help you.If you don't like advice, why do you pay me?That's a question of merchandise, said Stahr. I'm a merchant. I want to buy what's in your mind.You're no merchant, said Wylie. I knew a lot of them when I was a publicity man, and I agree with Charles Francis Adams.What did he say?He knew them all--Gould, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, Astor--and he said there wasn't one he'd care to meet again in the hereafter. Well--they haven't improved since then, and that's why I say you're no merchant.Adams was probably a sourbelly, said Stahr. He wanted to be head man himself, but he didn't have the judgement or else the character. He had brains, said Wylie rather tartly.It takes more than brains. You writers and artists poop out and get all mixed up, and somebody has to come in and straighten you out. He shrugged his shoulders. You seem to take things so personally, hating people and worshipping them--always thinking people are so important-especially yourselves. You just ask to be kicked around. I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it--on the inside.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

I'm sorry I was short with him--but I don't like a man to approach me telling me it for my sake.Maybe it was, said WylieIt's poor technique.I'd all for it, said Wylie. I'm vain as a woman. If anybody pretends to be interested in me, I'll ask for more. I like advice.Stahr shook his head distastefully. Wylie kept on ribbing him--he was one of those to whom this privilege was permitted. You fall for some kinds of flattery, he said. this 'little Napoleon stuff.'It makes me sick, said Stahr, but it's not as bad as some man trying to help you.If you don't like advice, why do you pay me?That's a question of merchandise, said Stahr. I'm a merchant. I want to buy what's in your mind.You're no merchant, said Wylie. I knew a lot of them when I was a publicity man, and I agree with Charles Francis Adams.What did he say?He knew them all--Gould, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, Astor--and he said there wasn't one he'd care to meet again in the hereafter. Well--they haven't improved since then, and that's why I say you're no merchant.Adams was probably a sourbelly, said Stahr. He wanted to be head man himself, but he didn't have the judgement or else the character. He had brains, said Wylie rather tartly.It takes more than brains. You writers and artists poop out and get all mixed up, and somebody has to come in and straighten you out. He shrugged his shoulders. You seem to take things so personally, hating people and worshipping them--always thinking people are so important-especially yourselves. You just ask to be kicked around. I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it--on the inside.

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About F. Scott Fitzgerald

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald (September 24, 1896 – December 21, 1940) was an American novelist, essayist, and short story writer. He is best known for his novels depicting the flamboyance and excess of the Jazz Age—a term he popularized in his short story collection Tales of the Jazz Age. During his lifetime, he published four novels, four story collections, and 164 short stories. Although he achieved temporary popular success and fortune in the 1920s, Fitzgerald received critical acclaim only after his death and is now widely regarded as one of the greatest American writers of the 20th century.
Born into a middle-class family in Saint Paul, Minnesota, Fitzgerald was raised primarily in New York state. He attended Princeton University where he befriended future literary critic Edmund Wilson. Owing to a failed romantic relationship with Chicago socialite Ginevra King, he dropped out in 1917 to join the United States Army during World War I. While stationed in Alabama, he met Zelda Sayre, a Southern debutante who belonged to Montgomery's exclusive country-club set. Although she initially rejected Fitzgerald's marriage proposal due to his lack of financial prospects, Zelda agreed to marry him after he published the commercially successful This Side of Paradise (1920). The novel became a cultural sensation and cemented his reputation as one of the eminent writers of the decade.
His second novel, The Beautiful and Damned (1922), propelled him further into the cultural elite. To maintain his affluent lifestyle, he wrote numerous stories for popular magazines such as The Saturday Evening Post, Collier's Weekly, and Esquire. During this period, Fitzgerald frequented Europe, where he befriended modernist writers and artists of the "Lost Generation" expatriate community, including Ernest Hemingway. His third novel, The Great Gatsby (1925), received generally favorable reviews but was a commercial failure, selling fewer than 23,000 copies in its first year. Despite its lackluster debut, The Great Gatsby is now hailed by some literary critics as the "Great American Novel". Following the deterioration of his wife's mental health and her placement in a mental institute for schizophrenia, Fitzgerald completed his final novel, Tender Is the Night (1934).
Struggling financially because of the declining popularity of his works during the Great Depression, Fitzgerald moved to Hollywood, where he embarked upon an unsuccessful career as a screenwriter. While living in Hollywood, he cohabited with columnist Sheilah Graham, his final companion before his death. After a long struggle with alcoholism, he attained sobriety only to die of a heart attack in 1940, at 44. His friend Edmund Wilson edited and published an unfinished fifth novel, The Last Tycoon (1941), after Fitzgerald's death. In 1993, a new edition was published as The Love of the Last Tycoon, edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli.