He went to America on a boat from Genoa.

He felt warm and sticky from the bleeding.

Jim Gilmore came to Hortons Bay from Canada.

He bought the blacksmith shop from old man Horton.

A big old wrought-iron grating from the front of a house.

Blood pumped regularly from between the horse’s front legs.

Young Buckley came in with his patrol from across the river.

They tried to get over it, and we potted them from forty yards.

“No, thanks,” said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry.

Drevitts and Boyle drove up from the Fifteenth Street police station in a Ford.

Almost any exhibition of complete self-sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.

The doctor came running from the corral, where he had been sewing up picador horses.

He was very shy and quite young and the train men passed him on from one crew to another.

He had to polish it from morning till night, until finally it began to affect his nose⁠—

Into the water left in the kettle he put several things he unwrapped from a handkerchief.

Then the music started again and he jumped up and twisted away from me and started dancing.

From Smith’s back door Liz could see ore barges way out in the lake going toward Boyne City.

We were fifty kilometers from the front, but the adjutant worried about the fire in my kitchen.

On the train from Padua to Milan they quarreled about her not being willing to come home at once.

This isn’t just an epigram⁠—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

After he got on crutches he used to take the temperatures so Ag would not have to get up from the bed.

From Smith’s back door you could look out across the woods that ran down to the lake and across the bay.

The pink wall of the house opposite had fallen out from the roof, and an iron bedstead hung twisted toward the street.

She liked it the way he walked over from the shop and often went to the kitchen door to watch for him to start down the road.

They walked up from the beach through a meadow that was soaking wet with dew, following the young Indian who carried a lantern.

A short time after he contracted gonorrhea from a sales girl in a loop department store riding in a taxicab through Lincoln Park.

“Those must boil,” he said, and began to scrub his hands in the basin of hot water with a cake of soap he had brought from the camp.

Then he cursed the bull, flopped the muleta at him, and swung back from the charge, his feet firm, the muleta curving and at each swing the crowd roaring.

Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction⁠—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn.

My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season.

Finally the bull was too tired from so much sticking and folded his knees and lay down and one of the cuadrilla leaned out over his neck and killed him with the puntillo.

I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War.

It was very beautiful in the spring and summer, the bay blue and bright and usually whitecaps on the lake out beyond the point from the breeze blowing from Charlevoix and Lake Michigan.

He drew out the sword from the folds of the muleta and sighted with the same movement and called to the bull, Toro! Toro! and the bull charged and Villalta charged and just for a moment they became one.

It was sharply different from the West, where an evening was hurried from phase to phase towards its close, in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.

Before I could reply that he was my neighbour dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.

When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart.

I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities, and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew.

Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound.

The lawn started at the beach and ran towards the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sundials and brick walks and burning gardens⁠—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run.

His family were enormously wealthy⁠—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach⁠—but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest.

In 1919 he was traveling on the railroads in Italy, carrying a square of oilcloth from the headquarters of the party written in indelible pencil and saying here was a comrade who had suffered very much under the Whites in Budapest and requesting comrades to aid him in any way.

The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.

I mistrust all frank and simple people, especially when their stories hold together, and I always had a suspicion that perhaps Robert Cohn had never been middleweight boxing champion, and that perhaps a horse had stepped on his face, or that maybe his mother had been frightened or seen something, or that he had, maybe, bumped into something as a young child, but I finally had somebody verify the story from Spider Kelly.