Whenever you feel like criticizing any one... just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.
I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others--young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life.
It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment.
It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life.
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.
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.
I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.
A sense of the fundamental decencies is parceled out unequally at birth.
The truth was that Jay Gatsby, of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about His Father’s Business, the service of a vast, vulgar and meretricious beauty.
Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther ... And one fine morning ---
I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.
but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game
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 registered earthquakes ten thousand miles away.
I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.
Americans, while occasionally willing to be serfs, have always been obstinate about being peasantry.
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