I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires.

It was a grey day, that least fleshly of all weathers; a day of dreams and far hopes and clear visions. It was a day easily associated with those abstract truths and purities that dissolve in the sunshine or fade out in mocking laughter by the light of the moon. The trees and clouds were carved in classical severity; the sounds of the countryside had harmonized to a monotone, metallic as a trumpet, breathless as the Grecian urn.

She confused him and hindered the flow of his ideas. Self-expression had never seemed at once so desirable and so impossible.

Her beautiful eyes and lips were very grave as she made her choice, and Anthony thought again how naive was her every gesture; she took all the things of life for hers to choose from and apportion, as though she were continually picking out presents for herself from an inexhaustible counter.

sometimes i wish i'd been an englishman; american life is so damned dumb and stupid and healthy

The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.

I am too much a moralist at heart, and really want to preach at people in some acceptable form, rather than entertain them.