A stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words.
A stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words.
Have a drink Tom and then you won't feel so foolish to yourself.
I noticed that she wore her evening dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes-there was a jauntiness about her movements as if she had first learned to walk upon a golf course on clean, crisp, mornings.
I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.
So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home.
Thirty--the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair.
A sudden emptiness seemed to flow now from the windows and the great doors, endowing with complete isolation the figure of the host, who stood on the porch, his hand up in a formal gesture of farewell.
He dispensed starlight to casual moths.
I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife.
Let us show our friendship for a man when he is living and not after he is dead.
The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alivewith chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other's names.
Tom and Daisy stared, with that peculiarly unreal feeling that accompanies the recognition of a hitherto ghostly celebrity of the movies.
Americans, while occasionally willing to be serfs, have always been obstinate about being peasantry.
He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, he was running down like an overwound clock.
I wanted to get out and walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight, but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild, strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets... I saw him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without.
Life is much more successfully looked at from a single window.
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain.
We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summer Sunday afternoon that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner.
And I like large parties. They're so intimate. At small parties there isn't any privacy.
He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it.
I was a little shocked at the elaborateness of the lie.
Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun.
What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours?
And so we beat on, books against the critics, borne back ceaslessly into rewrites.
He had seen me several times, and had intended to call on me long before, but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it.
I was enjoying myself now. I had taken two finger bowls of champagne and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental and profound.
Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them-with his smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro's troubled history and sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It appreciated fully the chain of national circumstances, which had elicited this tribute from Montenegro's warm little heart. My incredulity was submerged in fascination now; it was like skimming hastily through a dozen magazines.
The officer looked at Daisy while she speaking, in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at sometime.
What was the use of doing great things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
He hadn't once ceased looking at Daisy, and I think he revalued everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he stared around at his possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding presence none of it was any longer real.
I was promoted to be a major, and every Allied government gave me a decoration-even Montenegro, little Montenegro down on the Adriatic Sea!
Most affectations conceal something eventually, even though they don't in the beginning.
The only thing a girl is good for is being a beautiful little fool.
When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. That's my middle-west - not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow.
As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat's shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.
He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.
I was too absorbed to be responsive
Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in my heart I love her all the time. - The Great Gatsby.
The sun had gone down behind the tall apartments of the movie stars in the West Fifties, and the unclear voices of children, already gathered like crikets on the grass, rose through the hot twilight.
Wilson's glazed eyes turned out to the ashheaps, where small gray clouds took on fantastic shape and scurried here and there in the faint dawn wind.
At the gray 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.
He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf, muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was liable to collapse.
I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.
Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope.
The transition from libertine to prig was so complete.
Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
At this point Jordan and I tried to go, but Tom and Gatsby insisted with competitive firmness that we remain - as though neither of them had anything to conceal and it would be a privilege to partake vicariously of their emotions.
His dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories