All I think of ever is that I love you.
I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires.
The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.
How I feel is that if I wanted anything I'd take it. That's what I've always thought all my life. But it happens that I want you, and so I just haven't room for any other desires.
I want to die violently instead of fading out sentimentally.
No grand idea was ever born in a conference, but a lot of foolish ideas have died there.