The Notebooks
of F. Scott Fitzgerald

(R) Rough Stuff

My mind is the loose cunt of a whore, to fit all genitals.

His bowels, heavy with the night’s catch groaned out new scenes.

A man giving up the idea of himself as a hero. Perhaps picking his nose in a can.

You can’t take the son of a plough manufacturer, clip off his testicles and make an artist of him.

“Did you ever see squirrels yincing?” he asked her suddenly.

Scenario hacks having removed all life from a story substituting the stink of life—a fart, a loose joke, a dirty jeer. How they do it.

Every California girl has lost at least one ovary
And none of them has read Madame Bovary.

Переводы: R.