That familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you

Take off that darn fur coat!...Or maybe you'd like to have us open all the windows.

For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing.

It makes me sad because I've never seen such--such beautiful shirts before.

The truth was that Jay Gatsby, of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about His Father’s Business, the service of a vast, vulgar and meretricious beauty.

I like France, where everybody thinks he's Napoleon--down here everybody thinks he's Christ.