It is dangerous.

The whole town is desolate.

“This is the queen,” he said.

This idea is that we’re Nordics.

There is an Indian lady very sick.

Who the hell is going to make any trouble?

That is what is happening when she screams.

How you ever get anything done is beyond me.

It is the one country that everyone is sure of.

Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.

“This lady is going to have a baby, Nick,” he said.

What she is going through is called being in labor.

“But how is the movement going in Italy?” he asked.

Of course, the great thing in this sort of an affair is not to be shot oneself.

“Plastiras is a very good man, I believe,” he said, “but frightfully difficult.”

The idea is if we don’t look out the white race will be⁠—will be utterly submerged.

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

To the wingless a more interesting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.

“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.”

It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down, as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again.

I lived at West Egg, the⁠—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them.

I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

No⁠—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men.

If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away.

This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament”⁠—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again.