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Self-control! Repeated Tom incredulously. I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife. Well, if that's the idea you can count me out.  Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next they'll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white.

I found out what your 'drug-stores' were. He turned to us and spoke rapidly. He and this Wolfsheim bought up a lot of side-street drug-stores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the counter. That's one of his little stunts. I picked him for a bootlegger the first time I saw him, and I wasn't far wrong.

He broke off defiantly. What if I did tell him? That fellow had it coming to him. He threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy's, but he was a tough one. He ran over Myrtle like you'd run over a dog and never even stopped his car.

And what's more, I love Daisy too. Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in my heart I love her all the time.

Tom Buchanan Quotes

Did I? She looked at me. I can't seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I'm sure we did. It sort of crept up on us and first thing you know.

You're crazy! he exploded. I can't speak about what happened five years ago, because I didn't know Daisy then and I'll be damned if I see how you got within a mile of her unless you brought the groceries to the back door. But all the rest of that's a God damned lie. Daisy loved me when she married me and she loves me now.

You're revolting, said Daisy. She turned to me, and her voice, dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn: Do you know why we left Chicago? I'm surprised that they didn't treat you to the story of that little spree.

She's not leaving me! Tom's words suddenly leaned down over Gatsby. Certainly not for a common swindler who'd have to steal the ring he put on her finger.

I won't stand this! cried Daisy. Oh, please let's get out.

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Daisy’s husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anticlimax.

Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.

Well, it’s a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don’t look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.

''What about it?'' said Gatsby politely. ''I guess your friend Walter Chase wasn't too proud to come in on it.

Tom Buchanan Quotes

Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart.

Making a short deft movement, Tom Buchanan broke [Myrtle’s] nose with his open hand.

{You two start on home, Daisy," said Tom. "In Mr. Gatsby's car.
She looked at Tom, alarmed now, but he insisted with magnanimous scorn.
"Go on. He won't annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous little flirtation is over.}

They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.

I wonder where in the devil he met Daisy, And I hope she'll be a fool — that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

He stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling.

Occasionally a line of gray cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-gray men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight.

Did you give Nick a little heart-to-heart talk on the veranda? demanded Tom suddenly.

on the veranda? demanded Tom suddenly.

He smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced—or seemed to face—the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.

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. So he invented just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen year old boy would be likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end.

Can't repeat the past? he cried incredulously. Why of course you can!

He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.

Her voice is full of money, he said suddenly.

That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money—that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals' song of it.

They're a rotten crowd, I shouted across the lawn. You're worth the whole damn bunch put together.

I've always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever gave him, because I disapproved of him from beginning to end. First he nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile, as if we'd been in ecstatic cahoots on that fact all the time.

That's my Middle West . . . the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark. . . . I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all—Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some deficiency in common which made us subtly unadaptable to Eastern life.

Don't believe everything you hear, Nick, he advised me.

Nick, he advised me.

And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes—a fresh, green breast of the new world.... And as I sat there, brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out Daisy's light at the end of his dock. He had come such a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close he could hardly fail to grasp it. But what he did not know was that it was already behind him, somewhere in the vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.... And then one fine morning—So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Feral hogs wreak havoc on Oklahoma's farms, ranches and ecosystems, and cost farmers, ranchers and landowners.

Daisy, can't you see who this guy is, with his house and his parties and his fancy clothes? He is just a front for Wolfsheim, a gangster, to get his claws into respectable folk like Walter Chase.

Whenever you feel like criticizing any one . . . just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.

What foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

I hope she'll be a fool — that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool . . . You see, I think everything's terrible anyhow . . . And I know. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.

Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock.

This is a valley of ashes — a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air.

He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York. He's so dumb he doesn't know he's alive."

I married him because I thought he was a gentleman . . . I thought he knew something about breeding, but he wasn't fit to lick my shoe.

He borrowed somebody's best suit to get married in, and never told me about it, and the man came after it one day when he was out . . . I gave it to him and then I lay down and cried . . . all afternoon.

I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited. People were not invited — they went there.

I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.

I wouldn't ask too much of her, I ventured. You can't repeat the past.

I ventured. You can't repeat the past.

I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others — young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life.

It takes two to make an accident.

Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.

I belong to another generation . . . As for me, I am fifty years old, and I won't impose myself on you any longer.

A phrase began to beat in my ears with a sort of heady excitement: 'There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired.

Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes.

Americans, while occasionally willing to be serfs, have always been obstinate about being peasantry.

If it wasn't for the mist we could see your home across the bay . . . You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.

His parents were shiftless and unsuccessful farm people — his imagination had never really accepted them as his parents at all. The truth was that Jay Gatsby of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God . . . and he must be about His Father's business, the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious beauty. So he invented just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen year old boy would be likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end.

Daisy and Jordan lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols weighing down their own white dresses against the singing breeze of the fans.

I love New York on summer afternoons when everyone's away. There's something very sensuous about it - overripe, as if all sorts of funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.

So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

It excited him, too, that many men had already loved Daisy — it increased her value in his eyes.

When a man gets killed I never like to get mixed up in it in any way. I keep out. When I was a young man it was different . . . I stuck with them to the end . . . Let us learn to show friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead.

After Gatsby's death the East was haunted for me like that, distorted beyond my eyes' power of correction.

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