In my younger and more vulnerable years... my father gave me some advice. "Always try to see the best in people," he would say. As a consequence, I'm inclined to reserve all judgments. But even I have a limit.
our yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrets...to the casual...watcher in the street. And I was him too...looking up and wondering. I was within and without. Enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
You must understand that I like all things that are modern. Presses the orange... it all comes out there.
— If it wasn't for the mist, we could see the green light.
— What green light?
— The one that burns all night at the end of your dock.
Possibly...it had occurred to Gatsby that the colossal significance of that light had vanished forever.
A caravanserai...of billionaire playboy publishers and their blond nurses. Heiresses comparing inheritances on Gatsby's beach. My boss, Walter Chase, losing money at the roulette tables. Gossip columnists alongside... gangsters and governors exchanging telephone numbers. Film stars... Broadway directors... morality protectors...high school defectors.
— No one's met him. They say he's third cousin to the Kaiser and second cousin to the devil.
— I'm afraid I haven't been a very good host. You see... I'm Gatsby.
— Well, it didn't bring anyone else much solace. I wasn't any good.
— No one need ever read it. You could always burn it.
Everything. And there was nothing I could say...except the one unutterable fact that none of it was true.
They smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness
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