"If it wasnโt for the mist we could see your home across the bay," said Gatsby. "You always have a green light that burns at the end of your dock." Daisy put her arm through his abruptly but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to him, almost touching her. It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted things had diminished by one.
F. Scott FitzgeraldBeauty is only to be admired, only to be loved - to be harvested carefully and then flung at a chosen lover like a gift of roses. It seems to me, so far as I can judge clearly at all, that my beauty would be used like that.
F. Scott FitzgeraldHe snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf, muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was liable to collapse.
F. Scott FitzgeraldThereโs a writer for you,โ he said. โKnows everything and at the same time he knows nothing.โ [narrator]It was my first inkling that he was a writer. And while I like writersโbecause if you ask a writer anything you usually get an answerโstill it belittled him in my eyes. Writers arenโt people exactly. Or, if theyโre any good, theyโre a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person. Itโs like actors, who try so pathetically not to look in mirrors. Who lean backward tryingโonly to see their faces in the reflecting chandeliers.
F. Scott Fitzgerald