The Notebooks
of F. Scott Fitzgerald

(M) Moments (What people do)



We went through a routine, with a lot of false starts, charges, leg and throat holds, rolling overs, and escapes.
I only barked a little in the base to stretch my throat— I’m not one of the kind always shooting off their muzzle
We followed a tall lady for awhile—no particular reason except she had a parcel with meat in it—we knew we wouldn’t get any but you never can tell. Sometimes I just feel like shutting my nose and just following somebody pretending they’re yours or that they’re taking you somewhere.
The Brain wasn’t there yet but the Beard was. He got out that damn pole and tried to kid me again, holding it out and jabbering—a long time ago I figured out that his object is to see if I’m fool enough to jump over it. But I don’t bite, just walk around it. Then he tried the trick they all do—held my paws and tried to balance me on the end of my spine. I never could figure out the point of that one.
I wanted to lick him, but when I came really close he snarled, “Scram!” and got half up on his haunches. He thought I was going to eat him just because he was down.
The little boy said, “Get away you!” and it made me feel bad because I’ve never eaten a dog in my life and would not unless I was very hungry.
I must have a hundred bones around here and I don’t know why I save them. I never find them again unless accidentally, but I just can’t stand leaving them around.


Thinking the world was going to start over with the things they could make of cellophane. Because for a moment everyone was making things of cellophane.


Moving on to hot seat in theatre.


In processions I always look at the coach man and see what he looks like.


The idea of the grand dame slighly tight (a la Margaret Harriman) is one of the least impressive in the world. You know: “The foreign office will hear about this, hic!”


I once financed the great grandson of the great Morgan.


Who did I kiss who said, “Don’t tell Zelda”? Sandy?


It was an old pistol for as he took it away from her a slice of pearl came off the handle and fell on the floor.


Some kind of small animal that looked all wrong “as if it were turned inside out,” had emerged from the forest, regarded them curiously for a moment and hurried mysteriously away.


They were all hungry now, and sitting jaded beside the stream they developed individual tendencies to look around for a sign “Restaurant” or strain their ears for the tinkle of a dinner bell.


In Manilla Mr. Barnaby had struck her with a whist broom because she had ruined his life.


Nurses clucking. As if that confirmed some idea of life that they had held for long


Dorothy Parker going Victorian, making up fortune in the past by weeping—a sort of deliberate retrogression


He put out a mosquito on the paper and erased its body with the rubber


Her mouth fell open comically, she balanced a moment


Almost release but scene broken by local music


She was asleep—he stood for a moment beside her bed sorry for her, because she was asleep, and because she had set her slippers beside her bed.


Waiting for the lady to take out the bag on bus


Everyone suddenly stiffened—after a terrible moment Mrs. Littleton, by making herself figuratively into oil managed to ooze a few words through.


Only a fat Victorian pincushion filled with an assorted variety of many-colored-headed pins seemed to assure her that a well-brought-up girl would do the right thing.


They ran for it through a blinding white hot crash.


He cocked one miserable eye at the bright tropical stars.


Belina the young Corsican yelled with glory as he bounced his aeroplane across the sky.


The inebriated American who had invited him to lunch thought at first that Val was a son of the czar.


“Dramatic club! Oh, gosh!” cried the girl. “Did you hear that? She thinks it’s a dramatic club, like Miss Pinkerton’s school.” In a moment her uninfectious laughter died away.


Back in the sitting room he resumed his walking; unconsciously he was walking like his father, the judge, dead thirty years ago; he was parading his dead father up and down the room.


The cuff button dropped to the floor; he stooped to pick it up and then said “Helen!” urgently into the mouth-piece to cover the fact that he had momentarily been away.


The water went into his nose and started a raw stinging; it blinded him; it lingered afterward in his ears, rattling back and forth like pebbles for hours.


The silence was coming from some deep place in Mrs. Ives’ heart.


The almost regular pat-smack, smack- pat- pat of the balls, the thud of a jump and the overtone of the umpire’s “Fault;” “Out;” “Game and st,6 —2, Mr. Oberwalter.”


Our fathers died. Suddenly in the night they died and in the morning we knew.


They laughed, ending with yawning gurgles that were not laughed out but sucked in.


She yet spoke somewhat sharply, as people will with a better refusal to convey.


To ride off into the sunset in such a chariot, into the very hush and mystery of night, beside him the mystery of that baby-faced girl.


Couple treading water dancing.


Wiping his chin with a long rag which he took from some obscure section of his upholstery.


When he left the house their engagement was over, but her love for him was not over and her hope was not gone, and her actions had only begun.


If Teddy had played the current sentimental song from Ermine, and had played it with feeling, she would have understood and been moved, but he was plunging her suddenly into a world of mature emotions, whither her nature neither could nor wished to follow.


A chorus of pleasant envy followed in the wake of their effortless glamour.


He threw his hands up so high it seemed as if they left his wrists and were caught again on their descent.


Hesitation before name doesn’t displease.


Behind them a long haired Nebraska pederast (not Van Vechten) told the plot in mournful numbers.


He went back into the bathroom and swallowed a draught of rubbing alcohol guaranteed to produce violent gastric disturbances.


He put his mind in order with a short resume of the history of music, beginning with some chords from The Messiah and ending with Debussy’s La Plus Que Lent, which had an evocative quality for him, because he had first heard it the day his cat died.


Clubbing him with his taller fist his head side-swiped a fence with blood tasting on his mouth and going cold on his ear lobes.


Trying to dismiss him as a sort of inspired fairy.


Opens magazine several times at the fact that poetry is at crossroads.


A beam, soft and pleasant fell across his spirit. Those two beings, tender and cloud-like, unreal, with the little sins of little people. They were no more than sick room flowers where he lay.


But at the look of childish craftiness in her eyes he took it back quickly.


She leaned back confortably against the water pipe, as one enjoying the moment at leisure. He lit her a cigarette impatiently and waited.


She walked toward the dressing table as though her own reflection was the only decent company with which to foregather.


De Sano tearing the chair


The funeral carriages—a man smoking in the last


Two brown port bottles appeared ahead, developed white labels, turned into starched nuns who seared us with holy eyes as we went by.


We left him there dancing with a fluttering waiter.


Dog arrives. I call him. Doesn’t like me. Expressionless he passes on.


In the big halt of night, an arrow fell in camp—it was neither poisoned nor pigeon-burdened—only pointed, and during big halt the enemy was a friendly thing.


Her voice trying to blow life into the dead number 2-0-1-1


Mother majestically dripping her sleeves in the coffee.


His ecstacy made him use the cane. He pointed it at little patches of snow that still remained on the ground and then raised it overhead dragging it through the lower limbs of the trees.


There was a flick of the lip somewhere, a bending of the smile toward some indirection, a momentary lifting and dropping of the curtain over a hidden passage.


he sat back robbed and glowering.


Hats coming off, thought it was his head


Went into the bathroom and sat on the seat crying because it was more private man anywhere she knew.


When he urinated it sounded like night prayer.


The feeling that she was (his) began between his shoulders and spread over him like a coat going on.


A thing called the Grand Canyon Symphony which seemed to me to lean heavily on Horses Horses Horses.


breaking into an “Off to Buffalo” against a sudden breath of wet wind.


Shocked at five razor blades instead of twelve.


Shuddering with pleasure at the difficult idiom.


The young people got back into the boat—they all felt fine and quietly passionate.


When she heard his footsteps again she turned frankly and held his eyes for a moment until his turned away, as a woman can when she has the protection of other men’s company.


An idea ran back and forth in his head like a blind man, knocking over the solid furniture.


He had written a complimentary letter to Mr. X, the humorist, for an autograph and had received Mr. X’s form letter which was a joke. About bunions ’Dear Sir,’ the letter said, ’My advice to you is to


Her mother had handed the passenger list across the table—her fingers so meticulously indicating the name that Rosemary had to pry it up to read.


Person driving away after seeing friend off (Sheilah) “I’m glad you’ve gone John”, and does a takem glancing back.


Going home at night—lights out—newsboy remind me.


“Bring me a box of Elizabeth Arden” you’d wired me and how our love shone through any old trite phrase in a telegram.


After a while a skittish lady with an air of being pursued slipped in and not without a few wary glances around achieved sanctuary in the front row.


The moment of closeness between savagry and civilization never closer than in the self-consciousness of truces and surrenders of men in love with the same girl, or in common life when we handle money. Scene to show this—paying Flora setting down money on bureau—no you keep it, etc.


Moss Hart’s compliment and me calling him author of Babes in Arms.


The pins and the napkin ring I swallowed.


———for a moment the sparkler went in four directions, exploded. The end of four stars. They exploded in four directions, detonated. The corner of the room—stars—just for a moment. He did not what he had done.


“And Nanny’s Trunk.”


I have known and analyzed too much charm to be impressed by ladies who recompose their features after an interdict.


“Shall I save him for another five minutes?” says Nora.


My story of self conscious woman who said son-of-a-bitch instead bitch at hunt dinner.

Next: N: Nonsense and Stray Phrases.

Переводы: M: Мгновения (как люди поступают) (разные переводчики).