Can’t you talk about crops or something?

There were six or seven of them including two priests.

The major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time.

It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

Or, rather, as I didn’t know Mr. Gatsby, it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name.

It was understood he would not drink, and he did not want to see his friends or anyone in the States.

It’s up to us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will have control of things.

When they operated on him she prepared him for the operating table; and they had a joke about friend or enema.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained.

Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on.

He tried five times and the crowd was quiet because it was a good bull and it looked like him or the bull and then he finally made it.

Spider Kelly taught all his young gentlemen to box like featherweights, no matter whether they weighed one hundred and five or two hundred and five pounds.

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.

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.

Most of the confidences were unsought⁠—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions.

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.