The bottle of whiskey - the second one - was now in constant demand by all present, excepting Catherine, who 'felt just as good on nothing at all.

Amory became thirteen, rather tall and slender, and more than ever on to his Celtic mother. He had tutored occasionally—the idea being that he was to "keep up," at each place "taking up the work where he left off," yet as no tutor ever found the place he left off, his mind was still in very good shape.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us.

She's got an indiscreet voice,' I remarked. ‘It's full of——‘ I hesitated. ‘Her voice is full of money,' he said suddenly.

In a good-natured way he had almost decided that Princeton was one part deadly Philistines and one part deadly grinds, and to find a person who could mention Keats without stammering, yet evidently washed his hands, was rather a treat.

I hope I haven't given you the impression that I consider kissing intrinsically irrational.

Too much of anything is bad, but too much Champagne is just right.