Best 51 quotes in «the great gatsby quotes» category

One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They stopped here and turned toward each other. Now it was a cool night with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes of the year.

O ümitlerdir ki şimdi sefer etmekteyiz, biz o akıntıya karşı giden tekneler, durmadan geriye geçmişe çarpılıp atılsak da ne gam..

Some read to remember the home they had left behind, others to forget the hell that surrounded them. Books uplifted their weary souls and energized their minds…books had the power to sooth an aching heart, renew hope for the future, and provide a respite when there was no other escape.

She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. 'All right,' I said, 'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool – that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.

She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. 'Alright,' I said, 'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool -that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.

So my first impression, that he was a person of some undefined consequence, had gradually faded and he had become simply the proprietor of an elaborate road-house next door.

The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person," (P. 1)

Standing behind him, Michaelis saw with a shock that he was looking at the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg, which had just emerged, pale and enormous, from the dissolving night. “God sees everything,” repeated Wilson.

There's green eyes in my eyes And a lover on my mind And I sing from the piano Tear my yellow dress and Cry and cry and cry Over the love of you

The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs; the cars from New York are parked five deep in the drive, and already the halls and salons and verandas are gaudy with primary colours, and hair bobbed in strange new ways...

They saw me. Milton's smile curled off his face like unsticky tape. And I knew immediately, I was a boy band, a boondoggle, born fool. He was going to pull a Danny Zuko in Grease when Sandy says hello to him in front of the T-Birds, a Mrs. Robinson when she tells Elaine she didn't seduce Benjamin, a Daisy when she chooses Tom with the disposition of a sour kiwi over Gatsby, a self-made man, a man engorged with dreams, who didn't mind throwing a pile of shirts around a room if he wanted too. My heart landslided. My legs earthquaked.

The shadow of a tree fell abruptly across the dew and ghostly birds began to sing among the blue leaves.

Through this twilight universe Daisy began to move again with the season; suddenly she was again keeping half a dozen dates a day with half a dozen men, and drowsing asleep at dawn with the beads and chiffon of an evening dress tangled among dying orchids on the floor beside her bed.

Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, i was reminded of something - an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that i had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment, a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man's, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what i had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever.

trying to tough what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.

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.

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

We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as the wind does on the sea.

Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it.

Whenever a soldier needed an escape, the antidote to anxiety, relief from boredom, a bit of laughter, inspiration, or hope, he cracked open a book and drank in the words that would transport him elsewhere.

Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together.

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.

You can't live forever; you can't live forever.

You're worth the whole damn bunch put together.

We heard it from three people so it must be true

You see I think everything's terrible anyhow. Everybody thinks so--the most advanced people. And I know. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything. Sophisticated--God, I'm sophisticated!

Anything can happen now that we've slid over this bridge, anything at all...

Akıntıya karşı giden sandallar gibi ilerliyoruz işte; durmaksızın geçmişe yol alan.

Aunque no estaba propiamente enamorado, sentía una especie de tierna curiosidad.

... and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.

but they made no sound and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable again.

Everyone suspects themselves of at least one of the cardinal virtues...

For Daisy was young and her artificial world was redolent of orchids and pleasant, cheerful snobbery and orchestras which set the rhythm of the year, summing up the sadness and suggestiveness of life in new tunes. All night the saxophones wailed the hopeless comment o the 'Beale Street Blues' while a hundred pairs of golden and silver slippers shuffled the shiny dust. At the grey tea hour there were always rooms that throbbed incessantly with this low, sweet fever, while fresh faces drifted here and there like rose petals blown by the sad horns around the floor.

Even though it was quite tragic, the old sport gave me some hope for life again.

He broke off and began to walk u and down a desolate path of fruit rinds and discarded favors and crushed flowers.

He lit Daisy's cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down with her on a couch far across the room, where there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced in from the hall.

He's just a man names Gatsby.

But it was all going by too fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.

He smiled understandingly-much more than understanding. 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.

He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass.

He stayed there for a week , walking the streets where their footsteps had clicked together through the November night and revisiting the out-of-the-way places to which they had driven in her white car.

I had a book in my hand, and a semicolon cup of unflavoured tea for this morning in the other hand. I was alone, without my family and in a strange trance. I did, however have this book in my hand. The Great Gatsby, by the late F. Scott Fitzgerald. It didn’t matter how unpopular and hated the book was way back when. All thats was important to me was that I held something familiar in my hand. A book, and one that I knew of in 1931, was all that u needed to be content.

Her 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 savours of anti-climax.

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.

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

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. "Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.

I want to write something new - something extraordinary and beautiful and simple and intricately patterned. As usual, F. Scott Fitzgerald

I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn't believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was true 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...

I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.

My own rule is to let everything alone.