Quotes About Author

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

Amory felt an immense desire to give people a sense of security.

The lights of many battleships drifting like water jewels upon the dark Hudson...

Anyhow, he gives large parties," said Jordan, changing the subject with an urban distaste for the concrete. "And I like large parties. They're so intimate. At small parties there isn't any privacy.

I'll tell you God's truth." His right hand suddenly ordered divine retribution to stand by.

Human sympathy has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind.

Gatsby took up his drink. 'They certainly look cool,' he said, with visible tension. We drank in long greedy swallows.

was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again.

It was Dick's car, a Renault so dwarfish

Sometimes I wish I'd been an Englishman; American life is so damned dumb and stupid and healthy.

I doubt if, after all, I'll ever write anything again worth putting in print.

After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence.

Had a hell of a dream about you last night," came in the cracked voice through the cigar smoke.

Communism as I see it has no place in the United States, and the American people will not stand for its teachings.

He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American—

Como consecuencia me inclino a reservarme todos los juicios, un hábito que me ha abierto muchas naturalezas curiosas y me ha hecho víctima de no pocos veteranos aburridos.

So, for the shoddiness of needs, are shoes made out of last year's hide.

epigram, than which, if one is content with ostensible

Sacrifice by its very nature was arrogant and impersonal; sacrifice should be eternally supercilious. Weep not for me but for thy children.

And his mind strong and subtle like the mind of Cuchulin

I've just finished a book of his, 'The Picture of Dorian Gray,' and I certainly wish you'd read it. You'd like it.

He made no self-accusations: never any more did he reproach himself for feelings that were natural and sincere. He accepted all his reactions as a part of him, unchangeable, unmoral.

He asked her if she thought he was conceited. She said there was a difference between conceit and self-confidence. She adored self-confidence in men.

We all turned and looked around for Gatsby. It was testimony to the romantic speculation he inspired that there were whispers about him from those who found little that it was necessary to whisper about in this world.