how to not take things personally: a book not written by me because i dont know how the fuck to do that
started from the bottom and i’ve managed to get worse
i hate when guys say “wow its ssooOO unattractive when girls swear. thats not lady like”
U KNOW WHAT, YOU LITTLE FUCK
ITS NOT ATTRACTIVE WHEN U SCRATCH UR FUCKIN HAIRY NUTS IN PUBLIC
I’ve read it three times now.
The first time I thought it was stupid, but I was in my younger and more vulnerable years and I didn’t understand. The second time was just last January, and I fell in love. This time was in preparation for the movie, and I fell in love even more. I think I can say I have a favorite author now. Not for the plots, or the characters, because frankly, they could be better, but for the writing. I’ll say I have a favorite writer instead.
After reading his other novels, I was able to read Gatsby in a more analytical manner, and I was able to savor the lyrical prose. I knew what to look for because of reading his other novels. Every sentence, no, every word meant something. Every syllable had a purpose in the novel Gatsby.
In the end, it is just a sad story. But it’s not a love story. It’s about money and wealth and the midwest. All of the novels are.
I hadn’t noticed all the things I noticed this reading go round. Next time, I’ll probably notice even more. Naturally, I marked the whole book with lines and quotes I enjoyed. I do recall the one about Jordan becoming a new personal favorite, “But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age.” And of course, how could I forget? “She was incurably dishonest.”
The saddest part(s) to me were when first, Gatsby and Nick are at lounging and Nick and some friends horse ride in out of no where. The woman asks him together, and as Gatsby gets his car, they leave. This reminds me of something middle school girls would to each other. Gatsby is just so pitiable. I guess you could say weak, but instead I will say hopeful and eager. Another scene was, of course, the funeral. Oh gosh. I wanted to cry so bad, but I couldn’t. I don’t think Fitzgerald wrote this to maker readers cry, but to think about the unattainable dream.
You can’t, and you shouldn’t, repeat the past. Oh Gatsby, that poor son of a bitch.
whenever i wanna cry i think about Van Gogh he was such a nice and lonely dude all he wanted was for people to love him he ate yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him oh god oh god that’s so sad i can’t breathe