Do you still smell of pencils and sometimes of tweed?
Zelda Fitzgerald to F. Scott Fitzgerald, fall 1930, letter from Prangins Clinic, Nyon, Switzerland. Ten years into the pair’s troubled marriage, Zelda suffered a breakdown and spent time in hospitals in Europe. This line, which I recently saw cited by Rachel Syme, is as melancholy as it sounds, part of a correspondence between the two that included Fitzgerald writing “We ruined ourselves–I have never honestly thought that we ruined each other.”
