One hurries through, even though there's time; the past, the continent, is behind; the future is the glowing mouth in the side of the ship; the dim, turbulent alley is too confusedly the present.

I want to die violently instead of fading out sentimentally.

Character is plot, plot is character.

Don't forget who you are and where you come from.

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.

America is a willingness of the heart.

Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy.