Human sympathy has its limits.

It was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement was generating on the air.

I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.

Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

My own rule is to let everything alone.

one emotion after another crept into her face like objects into a slowly developing picture.

The tragic hero usurps the function of the gods and attempts to remake the world.

Whenever you feel like criticzing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven´t had the advantages that you've had.

My dark secret is I’ve always wished I was Gatsby. As heartbroken as he was and as horrible a fate as he endured, I admired that he loved. It’s a difficult thing to do.

Even before the letter he'd been divided: one part of him swanning with Jay Gatsby around an imaginary Gotham; the other part stolid and earthbound, nose to the deep fryer, in the stifling, sizzling South.

Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs and so I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan scornful mouth smiled and I drew her up again, closer, this time to my face.