1 This idea is that we're Nordics.
2 Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.
3 Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old.
4 "This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor----" I said.
5 The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be--will be utterly submerged.
6 This isn't just an epigram--life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.
7 To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.
8 There is always a halt there of at least a minute and it was because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan's mistress.
9 It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again.
10 I lived at West Egg, the--well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them.
11 I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
12 The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river, and when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on waiting trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an hour.
13 No--Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, 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.
14 The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men.
15 If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away.
16 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.
17 This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"--it 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.
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