The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.

But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot.

It was always the becoming he dreamed of, never the being.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass.

And after reading Thoreau I felt how much I have lost by leaving nature out of my life.

It is difficult for young people to live things down. We will tolerate vice, grand larceny and the quieter forms of murder in our contemporaries... but our children's friends must show a blank service record.