Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Scott Fitzgerald
He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.
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1 comment:
Is that Gatsby? I can't believe he wrote that book in his 20s - what a punk!
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