Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood – she was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.
The garden of Dr. Harden was full of sunshine and bosomed with Japanese magnolia trees dropping pink tears over the grass.
There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsby’s enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant at his church steeple, for half an hour.
She was dressed in pale green, and a gold ribbon bound back her dark, straight hair like a crown.
The sun was pouring in, creeping in stealthily lengthening squares across his desk and the litter of papers that strewed it...
We’re getting old,′ said Daisy. ‘If we were young we’d rise and dance.
We heard it from three people, so it must be true.
She’s said to be very beautiful by people who ought to know.
Only as the local train shambled into the low-forested clayland of Westmoreland County, did he feel once more identified with his surroundings; at the station he saw a star he knew, and a cold moon bright over Chesapeake bay; he heard the rasping wheels of buckboards turning, the lovely fatuous voices, the sound of sluggish primeval rivers flowing softly under soft Indian names.
But women marry all their husbands’ talents and naturally, afterwards, are not so impressed with them as they may keep up the pretense of being.
Gatsby looked at Daisy in a way that every young girl wanted to be looked at.
Where are you from?” inquired Anthony. He knew, but beauty had rendered him thoughtless.
It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth with Dan Cody – told it to me because “Jay Gatsby” had broken up like glass against Tom’s hard malice, and the long secret extravaganza was played out.
I spent my Saturday nights in New York, because those gleaming, dazzling parties of his were with me so vividly that I could still hear the music and the laughter, faint and incessant, from his garden, and the cars going up and down his drive.
Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face.
They were tougher and.
Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty.
She did not plan; she merely let herself go, and the overwhelming life in her did the rest.
Tom. “I’d like to.
Part of the enchantment of Paris in the Twenties was that everything that happened there seemed to have something to do with art.