She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful.
“ I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn’t believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer scared. If that was true that he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. he must have looked up at the unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being reran, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about….like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.”