Oh, and spoiler here, but how the heck did Mrs. Wilson escape from the rooms over the garage in order to get killed? Last we heard of her, she was locked in--for two more days or so. Loved that she suddenly was out--just in time to get run over and help propel us to that depressing ending. The least FSF could have done is explain what she's doing out of the room. Don't just say, "Hey, you know what, I need to wrap this book up now and somebody's gotta die because I've got this depressing ending planned. Let's make it Mrs. Wilson." Poof, she's running out in the road now.
A tray of cocktails floated at us through the twilight, and we sat down at a table with the two girls in yellow and three men, each one introduced to us as Mr. Mumble. (p. 43)
We all turned an looked around for Gatsby. It was testimony to the romantic speculations he inspired that there were whispers about him from those who had found little that it was necessary to whisper about in this world. (p. 44)
USMM: I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.
JB: Has it?
USMM: A little bit, I think. I can't tell yet. I've only been here an hour.
[Unnamed, stout, middle-aged man; Jordan Baker] (p. 46)
I had taken two finger-bowls of champagne, and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental, and profound. (p. 47)
...I like large parties. They're so intimate. At small parties there isn't any privacy. [Jordan Baker] (p. 49)
Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people I have ever known. [narrator] (p. 58)
It's a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue, and moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that everybody else is so blind they don't see or care. [Jordan Baker] (p. 77)
When the melody rose, her voice broke up sweetly, following it in a way contralto voices have, and each change tipped out a little of her warm human magic upon the air. (p. 108)
There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind.... (p. 125)
...it grew upon me that I was responsible, because no one else was interested--interested, I mean, with that intense personal interest to which everyone has some vague right at the end. (p. 164)
Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead. [Wolfsheim] (p. 172)