Books are like brothers. I am an only child. Gatsby [is] my imaginary eldest brother.
He dispensed starlight to casual moths.
No one person in the world is necessary to you or to me.
He felt married to her, that was all.
Very few of the people who accentuate the futility of life remark the futility of themselves. Perhaps they think that in proclaiming the evil of living they somehow salvage their own worth from the ruin - but they don't, even you and I.
A big man has no time really to do anything but just sit and be big.