Lie to me by the moonlight. Do a fabulous story.

Books are like brothers. I am an only child. Gatsby [is] my imaginary eldest brother.

He must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about...like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.

The rich are different from us.

Never miss a party...good for the nerves--like celery.

good manners are an admission that everybody is so tender that they have to be handle with gloves.

There's a right way of doing things and a wrong way. If you've made up your mind to be different from everybody else, I don't suppose I can stop you, but I really don't think it's very considerate.