If I were a man, I would undoubtedly be F. Scott Fitzgerald. Rationally selfish, ostentatious, decadent, frenzied. When I read Fitzgerald it is as though I am reading my own thoughts (just expressed in a genius tone and with an incomparable writing ability that I could one day only dream of waking up with). He was loved and hated, and with age, he slowly... "unraaa-velled, in a baaall of yarn". I have little faith in the idea that we all have lived as something or someone else in a past life, but I have an overwhelming sense of connection with Fitzgerald. Perhaps this is just my egotism creeping in; I am not unique or special. I must remind myself of this. All humans have similar thoughts at one time or another, and of course countless have the very same thoughts, the exact same thoughts, spanning decades and centuries. Regardless, what a wonderfully selfish, magnificant man Fitzy was...the poor son of a bitch.
Zelda wasn't too bad herself.