The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
Grown-ups didn't seem to realize that for me, as for most other schoolboys, it was easier to keep silent than to speak. I was a natural oyster.
You insisted on thinking of them as angels, even if they were fallen angels.
My dream had become my reality: my old life was a discarded husk.
To see things as they really were--what an empoverishment!
Mr. Scott Fitzgerald deserves a good shaking. Here is an unmistakable talent unashamed of making itself a motley to the view. The Great Gatsby is an absurd story, whether considered as romance, melodrama, or plain record of New York high life.