14 Quotes Tagged: gatsby

Go on, she urged. Lie to me by the moonlight. Do a fabulous story.

Never miss a party...good for the nerves — like celery.

There was music from my neighbor's house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars. At high tide in the afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motor-boats slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of foam. On week-ends his Rolls-Royce became an omnibus, bearing parties to and from the city between nine in the morning and long past midnight, while his station wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to meet all trains. And on Mondays eight servants, including an extra gardener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing-brushes and hammers and garden-shears, repairing the ravages of the night before.

Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a fruiterer in New York — every Monday these same oranges and lemons left his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves. There was a machine in the kitchen which could extract the juice of two hundred oranges in half an hour if a little button was pressed two hundred times by a butler's thumb.

At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby's enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors-d'oeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. In the main hall a bar with a real brass rail was set up, and stocked with gins and liquors and with cordials so long forgotten that most of his female guests were too young to know one from another.

By seven o'clock the orchestra has arrived, no thin five-piece affair, but a whole pitful of oboes and trombones and saxophones and viols and cornets and piccolos, and low and high drums. The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing up-stairs; the cars from New Y

In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.

My courage is faith — faith in the eternal resilience of me — that joy'll come back, and hope and spontaneity. And I feel that till it does I've got to keep my lips shut and my chin high and my eyes wide — not necessarily any silly smiling. Oh, I've been through hell without a whine quite often — and the female hell is deadlier than the male.

It's all life is. Just going 'round kissing people.

I hope I haven't given you the impression that I consider kissing intrinsically irrational.

Even when the east excited me most, even when I was keenly aware of its superiority to the broad, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which only spared children and the very old-even then it had always for me a quality of distortion.

I found something! Courage — just that; courage as a rule of life and something to cling to always.

And so we beat on, books against the critics, borne back ceaslessly into rewrites.

Believe me, I may be a bit blasé, but I can still get any man I want.

I'll drink your champagne. I'll drink every drop of it, I don't care if it kills me.

I want you to lie to me just as sweetly as you know how for the rest of my life.

She was overstrained with grief and loneliness: almost any shoulder would have done as well.