Literary Rogues
Page 24
99 We are not Realists, or Romanticists: Arthur Symons, “Editorial Note,” The Savoy, no. 1 (London: Leonard Smithers, 1896), unnumbered page.
99 it was like cold mutton: Hyde, ed., The Three Trials of Oscar Wilde, p. 311.
100 The Morgue yawns for me: Oscar Wilde, The Letters of Oscar Wilde, trans. Rupert Hart-Davis (London: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1962), p. 708.
100 You’ll kill yourself, Oscar: Frank Harris, Oscar Wilde: His Life and Confessions, Vol. 2 (New York: Frank Harris, 1918), p. 538.
100 Literature has failed for me: Adams, Madder Music, Stronger Wine, p. 166.
101 I have no lungs left to speak of: Plarr, Ernest Dowson 1888–1897, p. 23.
101 supremely unhappy: The Book Lover: A Magazine of Book Lore, Vol. 2 (San Francisco: Book-Lover Press, 1901), p. 88.
11: THE LOST GENERATION
103 I was drunk for many years: F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up (New York: New Directions Publishing, 2009), p. 191.
103 All gods dead: F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1921), p. 304.
104 to human happiness: Thomas C. Rowe, Federal Narcotics Laws and the War on Drugs: Money Down a Rat Hole (New York: Haworth Press, 2006), p. 14–15.
104 Prohibition was a personal affront: Elizabeth Anderson and Gerald R. Kelly, Miss Elizabeth (New York: Little, Brown, 1969), p. 90.
105 You are all a lost generation: Jeffrey Meyers, Ernest Hemingway: The Critical Heritage (London: Psychology Press, 1997), p. 360.
105 dead within two: Andrew Turnbull, ed., The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald (New York: Charles Scribner’s and Sons, 1963), p. 457.
105 He wasn’t popular with his schoolmates: Atlantic Monthly 186 (1950): 70.
105 one complete birthday cake: Arthur Mizener, The Far Side of Paradise: A Biography of F. Scott Fitzgerald (New York: Avon Books, 1974), p. 34.
106 an outbreak of new heroines: Matthew Joseph Bruccoli, F. Scott Fitzgerald in His Time: A Miscellany (Kent State, OH: Kent State University Press, 1971), p. 264.
106 The uncertainties of 1919: Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up, p. 87.
107 after a few moments of inane conversation: Bruccoli, F. Scott Fitzgerald in His Time, p. 266.
107 the most attractive type in America: Matthew Joseph Bruccoli and Judith Baughman, eds., Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2004), p. 31.
107 tried to drink myself to death: Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up, p. 253.
107 a rather pleasant picture: Bruccoli and Baughman, eds., Conversations with F. Scott Fitzgerald, p. 59.
108 We were married and we’ve lived: Ibid., p. 34.
108 too ostentatious for words: Leslie Frewin, The Late Mrs. Dorothy Parker (New York: Macmillan, 1986), p. 71.
108 That young man must be mad: Mizener, The Far Side of Paradise, p. 155.
109 There’s no great literary tradition: The Saturday Review 43 (1960): 54.
109 If I knew anything: Bruccoli and Baughman, eds., Conversations With F. Scott Fitzgerald, p. 8–9.
109 riding in a taxi one afternoon: F. Scott Fitzgerald, “My Lost City,” in Alexander Klein, ed., The Empire City: A Treasury of New York (New York: Ayer, 1971), p. 429.
110 because it seemed more fun: Atlantic Monthly 187 (1951): 66.
110 $4000 a screw: Matthew J. Bruccoli, ed., F. Scott Fitzgerald: A Life in Letters (New York: Scribner’s, 1994), p. 58.
110 You could have and can make enough: Carlos Baker, ed., Ernest Hemingway: Selected Letters 1917–1961 (New York: Simon & Schuster), p. 307.
110 The public always associates the author: Bruccoli and Baughman, eds., Conversations With F. Scott Fitzgerald, p. 20.
110 narcotics are deadening to work: Ibid., p. 21.
111 The popular picture of a blond boy: Alfred Kazin, ed., F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Man and His Work (New York: World Publishing Co., 1951), p. 69.
111 The tempo of the city had changed: F. Scott Fitzgerald, “My Lost City,” p. 430.
111 It was very strange the way: Jay McInerney, “Bright Lights, Bad Reviews,” Salon.com, http://www1.salon.com/weekly/mcinerney2960527.html (retrieved April 26, 2012).
112 must have an utter confidence: Bruccoli, F. Scott Fitzgerald in His Time, p. 296.
112 Our sexual relations were very pleasant: Sally Cline, Zelda Fitzgerald: Her Voice In Paradise (New York: Arcade, 2004), p. 329.
112 Of course you’re a rummy: Baker, ed., Ernest Hemingway: Selected Letters 1917–1961, p. 408.
112 the well-known alcoholic: Saturday Review 10 (1984): xviii.
113 I have drunk too much: Andrew Turnbull, The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald (New York: Scribner’s, 1963), p. 254.
113 The assumption that all my troubles: Ibid., p. 397.
114 third-rate writer: Sara Mayfield, Exiles from Paradise: Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald (New York: Delacorte Press, 1971), p. 199.
114 I am sorry too that there: Ibid., p. 239.
115 I shall never forget the tragic: Mizener, The Far Side of Paradise, p. 285.
115 Scott died inside himself: Baker, ed., Ernest Hemingway: Selected Letters 1917–1961, p. 527.
115 balls into the sea: Ibid., p. 428.
115 When you once get to the point: Mizener, The Far Side of Paradise, p. 298.
115 You know as well as I do: Bruccoli, F. Scott Fitzgerald in His Time, p. 299.
116 the last tired effort of a man: Mizener, The Far Side of Paradise, p. 312.
116 The poor son of a bitch: Barry Day, ed., Dorothy Parker in Her Own Words (New York: Taylor Trade, 2004), p. 176.
116 The story of their marriage: Biography: F. Scott Fitzgerald. A&E Home Video, 1998. Videocassette.
12: FLAPPER VERSE
117 I don’t care what is written about me: Michael Largo, Genius and Heroin(New York: Harper Perennial, 2008), p. 218; although this quote is widely attributed to Dorothy Parker, I couldn’t find any evidence she ever wrote or spoke these words—but it sounds like something she would have said, and she would undoubtedly have been amused by the irony of its widespread attribution to her.
117 the quickest tongue imaginable: Leslie Frewin, The Late Mrs. Dorothy Parker (New York: Macmillan, 1986), p. 29.
118 five minutes: Ibid., p. 49.
118 She commenced drinking alone: Dorothy Parker, “Big Blonde,” Marion Meade, ed., The Portable Dorothy Parker (New York: Penguin Books, 2006), p. 193.
119 Just something light and easy: Day, ed., Dorothy Parker in Her Own Words, p. 135.
119 One more drink: Ibid., p. 45.
119 putting all my eggs in one bastard: Ibid., p. 80.
119 The trouble was Eddie: Ibid., p. 138.
119 if you don’t stop this sort of thing: John Keats, You Might As Well Live (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1970), p. 104.
119 I’d rather have a bottle: Eric Grzymkowski, The Quotable A**hole (New York: Adams Media, 2011), p. 57; as stated in the main text, this is another likely misattribution. Other sources have attributed it to W. C. Fields, though that’s also suspect.
120 Everybody did that then: Marion Meade, Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell Is This? (New York: Villard Books, 1988), p. 164.
120 the greatest living writer of short stories: Day, ed., Dorothy Parker in Her Own Words, p. 64.
120 Maybe this would do better: Ibid., p. 64–65.
120 I have just thrown away my only means: Ibid., p. 180.
121 flapper verse: New York Times Book Review, March 27, 1927, p. 6.
121 Nothing in her life became her: Meade, Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell Is This?, p. 173.
121 I was following in the exquisite footsteps: Day, ed., Dorothy Parker in Her Own Words, p. 105.
121 in America it has always been: Daniel Mark Epstein, What Lips My Lips Have Kissed (New York: Henry Holt, 2001), p. xiv.
122 you have a gorgeous red mouth: Ibid., p. 83.
122 the most beautiful and interesting play: Ibid., p. 141.
122 Those were the real gian
ts: Day, ed., Dorothy Parker in Her Own Words, p. 33.
123 the internationally known author: Meade, Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell Is This?, p. 197.
123 She was very blond: Ibid., p. 90.
124 Why can’t you be funny again: Ibid., p. 304.
125 not dangerous enough: Natalie S. Robins, Alien Link: The FBI’s War on Freedom of Expression (New York: William Morrow, 1992), p. 252.
125 What are you going to do when: Meade, Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell Is This?, p. 339.
125 stand between the poem and the reader: Charles Baudelaire, The Flowers of Evil, trans. Edna St. Vincent Millay and George Dillon (New York: Harper, 1936), p. xiv.
126 I’m not going to live just in order to be one day older tomorrow: Epstein, What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, p. 266.
126 a person who has been as wicked as I have been: Ibid., p. 268.
126 She had so changed: Edmund Wilson, The Shores of Light (New York: Farrar, Straus and Young, 1952), p. 784.
127 Get me a new husband: Frewin, The Late Mrs. Dorothy Parker, p. 289.
127 I’m betraying my talent: Ibid., p. 143.
128 Promises, promises: Day, ed., Dorothy Parker in Her Own Words, p. 136.
128 perfectly wonderful: Ibid.
13: BULLFIGHTING AND BULLSHIT
129 In order to write about life: A. E. Hotchner, ed., The Good Life According to Hemingway (New York: HarperCollins, 2008), p. 12.
129 You have to work hard to deserve: “ … and the short words,” Printers’ Ink 243 (1953): 85.
130 Ernestine: Carl P. Eby, Hemingway’s Fetishism (Albany, NY: State University of New York, 1999), p. 98.
130 a silly front: Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1929), p. 24.
130 with both knees shot thru: Constance Cappel Montgomery, Hemingway in Michigan (New York: Fleet Publishing, 1966), p. 113.
131 of great tragic interest: Carlos Baker, Hemingway: The Writer as Artist (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1956), p. 145.
131 A Greater Gatsby: Baker, ed., Ernest Hemingway: Selected Letters 1917–1961, p. 231.
131 When a man marries his mistress: Elizabeth Abbott, A History of Mistresses (Toronto: HarperFlamingoCanada, 2003), p. 5.
132 I’ll probably go the same way: Madelaine Hemingway Miller, Ernie: Hemingway’s Sister “Sunny” Remembers (New York: Crown Publishers, 1975), p. 115.
132 began to drink more compulsively than ever: Tom Dardis, The Thirsty Muse (New York: Ticknor and Fields, 1989), p. 181.
132 Got tight last night: Jeffrey Meyers, Hemingway: A Biography (Boston: Da Capo Press, 1999), p. 206.
132 I have spent all my life drinking: Dardis, The Thirsty Muse, p. 157.
132 all bullfighting and bullshit: Meyers, Hemingway, p. 164.
133 What did he fear: Ernest Hemingway, “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place,” The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1998), p. 268.
133 Happiness in intelligent people: Hotchner, ed., The Good Life According to Hemingway, p. 117.
133 one marriage I regret: A. E. Hotchner, Papa Hemingway (Boston: Da Capo Press, 2005), p. 87.
133 I never wanted to get married: Ibid., p. 87.
134 under fire in combat areas: Carlos Baker, Ernest Hemingway: A Life Story (New York: Scribner’s, 1969), p. 462.
134 His injuries from the second crash: Dardis, The Thirsty Muse, p. 198.
134 If you keep on drinking this way: Noberto Fuentes, Hemingway in Cuba (Seacaucus, NJ: L. Stuart, 1984), p. 63.
135 Drinking was as natural as eating: Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition, ed. Seán Hemingway (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2009), p. 142.
135 I have spoken too long for a writer: Matthew Joseph Bruccoli, ed., Conversations with Ernest Hemingway (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1986), p. 196.
135 Unlike your baseball player: A. E. Hotchner, “Hemingway, Hounded by the Feds,” New York Times, July 1, 2011.
135 quite as nervously broken down: Meyers, Hemingway: A Biography, p. 278.
135 It’s the worst hell: Hotchner, “Hemingway, Hounded by the Feds.”
136 The FBI’s got them going over my account: Ibid.
136 he often spoke of destroying himself: Ibid.
136 in January he called me: Ibid.
136 This man, who had stood his ground: Ibid.
136 turned on him: Ibid.
137 Just because you’re paranoid: Charles Clay Doyle, Wolfgang Mieder, and Alfred R. Shapiro, The Dictionary of Modern Proverbs (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), p. 164; while this saying is widely attributed to Joseph Heller, the phrase does not appear in his novel Catch-22—rather, it appears in Buck Henry’s screenplay for the 1970 film adaptation.
137 Beginning in the 1940s: Hotchner, “Hemingway, Hounded by the Feds.”
137 Man can be destroyed: Ibid.
137 I spend a hell of a lot of time killing: Hotchner, Papa Hemingway, p. 139.
138 the Hemingway Defense: Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2002), p. 87.
14: THE SOUTHERN GENTLEMAN
139 Pouring out liquor: Joseph Leo Blotner, Faulkner: A Biography (New York: Random House, 1974), p. 199.
139 Civilization begins with: Dardis, The Thirsty Muse, p. 7.
139 Bill Faulkner had arrived: Howard Mumford Jones and Walter B. Rideout, eds., Letters of Sherwood Anderson (New York: Little, Brown, 1953), p. 252.
140 somewhat in absentia: Dardis, The Thirsty Muse, p. 57.
140 Either way suits me: Frederick John Hoffman and Olga W. Vickery, William Faulkner: Three Decades of Criticism (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1960), p. 96.
141 the greatest writer we have: Day, ed., Dorothy Parker in Her Own Words, p. 67.
141 I am the best in America: Michael Gresset, A Faulkner Chronology (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1985), p. 52.
141 Pappy was getting ready: Stephen B. Oates, William Faulkner: The Man and the Artist (New York: Harper & Row, 1988), p. 231.
141 I usually write at night: M. Thomas Inge, Conversations with William Faulkner (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1999), p. 21.
141 I get sore at Faulkner: Dardis, The Thirsty Muse, p. 204.
142 There is no such thing as bad whiskey: Blotner, Faulkner: A Biography, p. 357.
142 Never ask me why: Dardis, The Thirsty Muse, p. 87.
142 his powerful and artistically unique: Bernard S. Schlessinger and June H. Schlessinger, The Who’s Who of Nobel Prize Winners, 1901–1995 (Phoenix, AZ: Oryx Press, 1996), p. 73.
143 extremely mean and stupid horses: Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing at Rolling Stone: The Essential Writing of Hunter S. Thompson, ed. Jann Wenner (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2011), p. 517.
143 The great ones die, die: Paul L. Mariani, Dream Song: The Life of John Berryman (Boston: University of Massachusetts Press, 1996), p. 379.
15: DEATHS AND ENTRANCES
145 Do not go gentle: Dylan Thomas, “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night,” The Poems of Dylan Thomas, ed. Daniel Jones (New York: New Directions, 2003), p. 239.
145 I’ll never forget being taken: New York in the Fifties. Dir. Betsy Blankenbaker. First Run Features, 2001. DVD.
145 The first poems I knew: Paul Ferris, Dylan Thomas: The Biography (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint Press, 2000), p. 25.
146 difficult to differentiate: Walford Davies, ed., Dylan Thomas: Early Prose Writings (London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1971), p. 122.
146 He was determined to drink: Cyril Connolly, Previous Convictions (London: H. Hamilton, 1963), p. 326.
148 You’re nothing but a lot: Ferris, Dylan Thomas: The Biography, p. 200.
149 Would he arrive only to break down: Elizabeth Hardwick, A View of My Own: Essays in Literature and Society (New York: Farrar, Straus and Cudahy, 1962), p. 104.
149 Nobody ever needed encouragement: Andrew Lycett, Dylan Thomas: A New Life (New York: Overlo
ok Press, 2004), p. 286.
149 To touch the titties: Shelley Winters, Shelley II: The Middle of My Century (New York: Pocket Books, 1990), p. 24.
149 I do not believe it’s necessary: Ibid., p. 25.
149 rude, drunken behavior: Ibid., p. 34.
149 When one burns one’s bridges: Dylan Thomas and Donald F. Taylor, The Doctor and the Devils (London: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1955), p. 9; the actual quote in this script reads, “When one burns one’s boats,” though it is widely misquoted as “bridges.”
150 They ought to know what he’s really like in America: John Malcom Brinnin, Dylan Thomas in America: An Intimate Journal, Kindle edition, location 1705.
150 an overgrown baby: John Malcolm Brinnin, Sextet: T.S. Eliot and Truman Capote and Others (New York: Delacorte Press/Seymour Lawrence, 1981), p. 70.
150 borrows with no thought of: “Books: Welsh Rare One,” Time, April 6, 1953.
150 it was all over: Dan Wakefield, New York in the Fifties (New York: Houghton Mifflin/Seymour Lawrence, 1992), p. 128.
150 That kid is going to kill himself: Brinnin, Dylan Thomas in America, Kindle location 1182.
151 I truly want to die: Ibid., location 4006.
151 eighteen straight whiskies: John Malcom Brinnin, Dylan Thomas in America: An Intimate Journal (London: Arlington Books, 1988), p. 272.
16: THE BEAT GENERATION
154 When the paint dried: Sloan Wilson, The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit (Boston: Da Capo Press, 2002), p. 2.
155 absurdity of life in the United States: Read all about their sex- and drug-fueled exploits in my first book, Great Philosophers Who Failed at Love (Harper Perennial, 2011).
155 American existentialists: Norman Mailer, The White Negro (San Francisco: City Lights Books, 1957), page number unknown.
155 sitting around trying to think: Wakefield, New York in the Fifties, p. 163.
155 Our heroes were writers: New York in the Fifties, directed by Betsy Blankenbaker (First Run Features, 2001), DVD.
155 was like Paris in the twenties: Alice Denham, Sleeping With Bad Boys (Las Vegas, NV: Book Republic Press, 2006), p. 59.
156 one of the three most dangerous: Marcus Boon, The Road of Excess: A History of Writers on Drugs (Boston: Harvard University Press, 2002), p. 259.