The Lost Generation Quotes 1

There was a faint, barely perceptible movement of the water as the fresh flow from one end urged its way toward the drain at the other. with little ripples that were hardly the shadows of waves, the laden mattress moved irregularly down the pool. A small gust of wind that scarcely corrugated the surface was enough to disturb its accidental course with its accidental burden. The touch of a cluster of leaves revolved it slowly, tracing, like the leg of compass, a thin red circle in the water. It was after we started with Gatsby toward the house that the gardener saw Wilson's body a little way off in the grass, and the holocaust was complete.

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Blood develops a draftsman's compass (one that can draw a perfect circle)- perfect circle of blood that covers the body and develops in to a circle -Uses holocaust as an archaic sacrifice to G as you burn something and functions as a sacrifice

Shreds and tatters of chinchilla, courtesy clouds in the green moon's heaven, were passing the green moon like precious Eastern stuffs paraded for the inspection of some Tartar Khan. It seemed to John that it was day, and that he was looking at some lads sailing above him in the air, showering down tracts and patent medicine circulars, with their messages of hope for despairing, rock-bound hamlets. It seemed to him that he could see them look down out of the clouds and stare—and stare at whatever there was to stare at in this place whither he was bound—What then? Were they induced to land by some insidious device to be immured far from patent medicines and from tracts until the judgment day—or, should they fail to fall into the trap, did a quick puff of smoke and the sharp round of a splitting shell bring them drooping to earth—and "upset" Percy's mother and sisters. John shook his head and the wraith of a hollow laugh issued silently from his parted lips. What desperate transaction lay hidden here? What a moral expedient of a bizarre Croesus? What terrible and golden mystery?

-Fitzgerald, Diamond as Big as the Ritz -Desperate transaction and something that is golden but also a mystery- Croesus developed the standard of gold cows and ideas of wealth- Greek king who had his image stamped on them- seems like it is consistent with people with a lot of wealth but it is inconsistent as you look up words you see changes in the music that are not normal

Hypnotized by his own words, the young man stumbled along the board sidewalk saying more words. "There is a law for armies and for men too," he muttered, lost in reflection. "The law begins with little things and spreads out until it covers everything. In every little thing there must be order, in the place where men work, in their clothes, in their thoughts. I myself must be orderly. I must learn that law. I must get myself into touch with something orderly and big that swings through the night like a star. In my little way I must begin to learn something, to give and swing and work with life, with the law." George Willard stopped by a picket fence near a street lamp and his body began to tremble. He had never before thought such thoughts as had just come into his head and he wondered where they had come from. For the moment it seemed to him that some voice outside of himself had been talking as he walked. He was amazed and delighted with his own mind and when he walked on again spoke of the matter with fervor. "To come out of Ransom Surbeck's pool room and think things like that," he whispered. "It is better to be alone. If I talked like Art Wilson the boys would understand me but they wouldn't understand what I've been thinking down here.

-An Awakening, Winesburg, Ohio -The way it is written, analyzes how life is not easy but there are ways to prepare fro it- he can give his life structure as he looks fro a way to order his life- even in places like Winesburg, Ohio, where people do not have fulfilled lives, he can play with this as Anderson arranges words to make them come alive- there are laws in the universe that makes things happen the way they do (like the laws of physics) and he can write about it to make sense of all of it- by the end of the story, there is a prepared motion of Ed knocking him down and going back up but still tries to move on forward

Each time she came to see the doctor the hotel keeper's wife talked a little more freely and after an hour or two in his presence went down the stairway into Main Street feeling renewed and strengthened against the dullness of her days. With something approaching a girlhood swing to her body she walked along, but when she had got back to her chair by the window of her room and when darkness had come on and a girl from the hotel dining room brought her dinner on a tray, she let it grow cold. Her thoughts ran away to her girlhood with its passionate longing for adventure and she remembered the arms of men that had held her when adventure was a possible thing for her. Particularly she remembered one who had for a time been her lover and who in the moment of his passion had cried out to her more than a hundred times, saying the same words madly over and over: "You dear! You dear! You lovely dear!" The words, she thought, expressed something she would have liked to have achieved in life.

-Death, Winesburg, Ohio -Refrain is done here to help the reader understand the character- she is sick and says this to her as she dies- reflects a loss and longing- the phrase "dear oh dear" mentions death as a lover and tells it to be patient- a lot here not expressed and she cannot articulate it but it is a moment of great importance- the things we long fro might not happen

Tom Foster's voice arose, and for once in his life he became almost excited. "It was like making love, that's what I mean," he explained. "Don't you see how it is? It hurt me to do what I did and made everything strange. That's why I did it. I'm glad, too. It taught me something, that's it, that's what I wanted. Don't you understand? I wanted to learn things, you see. That's why I did it."

-Drink, Winesburg, Ohio -If we want to be attached and superior, as the drink gives you the strength to do, it is only an idea that exists fro a little bit- Tom says that alcohol makes him happy and we get a combination from the way human emotion works- over time we run out of language to describe the intrinsic experience

Tom got drunk sitting on a bank of new grass beside the road about a mile north of town. Before him was a white road and at his back an apple orchard in full bloom. He took a drink out of the bottle and then lay down on the grass. He thought of mornings in Winesburg and of how the stones in the graveled driveway by Banker White's house were wet with dew and glistened in the morning light. He thought of the nights in the barn when it rained and he lay awake hearing the drumming of the raindrops and smelling the warm smell of horses and of hay. Then he thought of a storm that had gone roaring through Winesburg several days before and, his mind going back, he relived the night he had spent on the train with his grandmother when the two were coming from Cincinnati. Sharply he remembered how strange it had seemed to sit quietly in the coach and to feel the power of the engine hurling the train along through the night. Tom got drunk in a very short time. He kept taking drinks from the bottle as the thoughts visited him and when his head began to reel got up and walked along the road going away from Winesburg. There was a bridge on the road that ran out of Winesburg north to Lake Erie and the drunken boy made his way along the road to the bridge. There he sat down. He tried to drink again, but when he had taken the cork out of the bottle he became ill and put it quickly back. His head was rocking back and forth and so he sat on the stone approach to the bridge and sighed. His head seemed to be flying about like a pinwheel and then projecting itself off into space and his arms and legs flopped helplessly about. At eleven o'clock Tom got back into town. George Willard found him wandering about and took him into the Eagle printshop. Then he became afraid that the drunken boy would make a mess on the floor and helped him into the alleyway. The reporter was confused by Tom Foster. The drunken boy talked of Helen White and said he had been with her on the shore of a sea and had made love to her. George had seen Helen White walking in the street with her father during the evening and decided that Tom was out of his head. A sentiment concerning Helen White that lurked in his own heart flamed up and he became angry. "Now you quit that," he said. "I won't let Helen White's name be dragged into this. I won't let that happen." He began shaking Tom's shoulder, trying to make him understand. "You quit it," he said again.

-Drink, Winesburg, Ohio -Tries to drink to become alive and knows that he will suffer if he does not drink- he can live in Winesburg and nobody will know who he is. He inherits things that he cannot get away from in this post-war context in a Darwinian fashion- goal is to get drunk and his senses will sharpen out as an animal in his environment. He will become more aware of his environment and wants to stimulate himself as much as possible

"You have made an enormous impression on me," said John's eyes, "and I'm not so slow myself"—"How do you do?" said his voice. "I hope you're better this morning."—"You darling," added his eyes tremulously. John observed that they had been walking along the path. On her suggestion they sat down together upon the moss, the softness of which he failed to determine. He was critical about women. A single defect—a thick ankle, a hoarse voice, a glass eye—was enough to make him utterly indifferent. And here for the first time in his life he was beside a girl who seemed to him the incarnation of physical perfection. "Are you from the East?" asked Kismine with charming interest. "No," answered John simply. "I'm from Hades." Either she had never heard of Hades, or she could think of no pleasant comment to make upon it, for she did not discuss it further. "I'm going East to school this fall" she said. "D'you think I'll like it? I'm going to New York to Miss Bulge's. It's very strict, but you see over the weekends I'm going to live at home with the family in our New York house, because father heard that the girls had to go walking two by two." "Your father wants you to be proud," observed John. "We are," she answered, her eyes shining with dignity. "None of us has ever been punished. Father said we never should be. Once when my sister Jasmine was a little girl she pushed him downstairs and he just got up and limped away. "Mother was—well, a little startled," continued Kismine, "when she heard that you were from—from where you are from, you know. She said that when she was a young girl—but then, you see, she's a Spaniard and old-fashioned."

-Fitzgerald, Diamond as Big as the Ritz

The Montana sunset lay between two mountains like a gigantic bruise from which dark arteries spread themselves over a poisoned sky. An immense distance under the sky crouched the village of Fish, minute, dismal, and forgotten. There were twelve men, so it was said, in the village of Fish, twelve sombre and inexplicable souls who sucked a lean milk from the almost literally bare rock upon which a mysterious populatory force had begotten them. They had become a race apart, these twelve men of Fish, like some species developed by an early whim of nature, which on second thought had abandoned them to struggle and extermination.

-Fitzgerald, Diamond as Big as the Ritz -12 apostles like the ones of Christ- these people are described as animalistic in a Darwinian way- suckling imagery is an allegory to Romulus and Reums, the inheritage of leadership

John T. Unger was on the eve of departure. Mrs. Unger, with maternal fatuity, packed his trunks full of linen suits and electric fans, and Mr. Unger presented his son with an asbestos pocket-book stuffed with money.

-Fitzgerald, Diamond as Big as the Ritz -Abspestos is a poisonous substance and schools can be shut down fro periods of time if they are infected with abspestos- helped in insulation and helped to prevent fires since it was flame retardant so the money will never burn

Through a maze of these rooms the two boys wandered. Sometimes the floor under their feet would flame in brilliant patterns from lighting below, patterns of barbaric clashing colors, of pastel delicacy, of sheer whiteness, or of subtle and intricate mosaic, surely from some mosque on the Adriatic Sea. Sometimes beneath layers of thick crystal he would see blue or green water swirling, inhabited by vivid fish and growths of rainbow foliage. Then they would be treading on furs of every texture and color or along corridors of palest ivory, unbroken as though carved complete from the gigantic tusks of dinosaurs extinct before the age of man .... Then a hazily remembered transition, and they were at dinner—where each plate was of two almost imperceptible layers of solid diamond between which was curiously worked a filigree of emerald design, a shaving sliced from green air. Music, plangent and unobtrusive, drifted down through far corridors—his chair, feathered and curved insidiously to his back, seemed to engulf and overpower him as he drank his first glass of port. He tried drowsily to answer a question that had been asked him, but the honeyed luxury that clasped his body added to the illusion of sleep—jewels, fabrics, wines, and metals blurred before his eyes into a sweet mist

-Fitzgerald, Diamond as Big as the Ritz -Freudian sense of something we dream about as he has a rich family but the description is almost like that of a subconscious dream- something bizarre about the setting because the world can't develop clear details as the unconscious takes control

"The slaves' quarters are there." His walking-stick indicated a cloister of marble on their left that ran in graceful Gothic along the side of the mountain. "In my youth I was distracted for a while from the business of life by a period of absurd idealism. During that time they lived in luxury. For instance, I equipped every one of their rooms with a tile bath." "I suppose," ventured John, with an ingratiating laugh, "that they used the bathtubs to keep coal in. Mr. Schnlitzer-Murphy told me that once he—-" "The opinions of Mr. Schnlitzer-Murphy are of little importance, I should imagine," interrupted Braddock Washington coldly. "My slaves did not keep coal in their bathtubs. They had orders to bathe every day, and they did. If they hadn't I might have ordered a sulphuric acid shampoo. I discontinued the baths for quite another reason. Several of them caught cold and died. Water is not good for certain races—except as a beverage." John laughed, and then decided to nod his head in sober agreement. Braddock Washington made him uncomfortable. "All these negroes are descendants of the ones my father brought North with him. There are about two hundred and fifty now. You notice that they've lived so long apart from the world that their original dialect has become an almost indistinguishable patois. We bring a few of them up to speak English—my secretary and two or three of the house servants.

-Fitzgerald, Diamond as Big as the Ritz -No need to provide working people with the necessary things to survive reflects the treatment of these slaves- reversal of the emancipation proclamation- nobody wants to embrace poverty but embracing race is perfectly fine in this scenario

St. Midas's School is half an hour from Boston in a Rolls-Pierce motor-car. The actual distance will never be known, for no one, except John T. Unger, had ever arrived there save in a Rolls-Pierce and probably no one ever will again. St. Midas's is the most expensive and the most exclusive boys' preparatory school in the world.

-Fitzgerald, Diamond as Big as the Ritz -The Rolls-Pierce car that he is driving is known to be used by gangsters, so it shows that he has dirty money. The Rolls-Pierce is used from gangsters since it can drive fast

Gatsby's house was still empty when I left--the grass on his lawn had grown as long as mine. One of the taxi drivers in the village never took a fare past the entrance gate without stopping for a minute and pointing inside; perhaps it was he who drove Daisy and Gatsby over to East Egg the night of the accident and perhaps he had made a story about it all his own. I didn't want to hear it and I avoided him when I got off the train. I spent my Saturday nights in New York because those gleaming, dazzling parties of his were with me so vividly that I could still hear the music and the laughter faint and incessant from his garden and the cars going up and down his drive. One night I did hear a material car there and saw its lights stop at his front steps. But I didn't investigate. Probably it was some final guest who had been away at the ends of the earth and didn't know that the party was over. On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to the grocer, I went over and looked at that huge incoherent failure of a house once more. On the white steps an obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight and I erased it, drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone. Then I wandered down to the beach and sprawled out on the sand. Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes--a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.

-Fitzgerald, Great Gatsby -Specific word choice: -"comensorate" means a great claim to fame to complete the lyricism of the passage and it sounds great together and are all connected in a poetic way -"Inessential housing" means explosion of affluence that is not important- Dutch saw the fresh new world to exploit the land and look fro places to trap beavers- what was it like fro the first explorers is a sense of wonder as the tree's that were here must have been used fro pure beauty -"aesthetic"- beauty that consistently declines over time- can you go back in time and re-capture a great moment, as romantics tried to do? In a corrupt world, no you can;t and Fitzgerald says that when the Dutch arrived, the world began to burn

The people in the boat, watching closely, saw that he was having difficulties. He was on one knee; the trick was to straighten all the way up in the same motion with which he left his kneeling position. He rested for a moment, then his face contracted as he put his heart into the strain, and lifted. The board was narrow, the man, though weighing less than a hundred and fifty, was awkward with his weight and grabbed clumsily at Dick's head. When, with a last wrenching effort of his back, Dick stood upright, the board slid sidewise and the pair toppled into the sea. In the boat Rosemary exclaimed: "Wonderful! They almost had it." But as they came back to the swimmers Nicole watched for a sight of Dick's face. It was full of annoyance as she expected, because he had done the thing with ease only two years ago. The second time he was more careful. He rose a little testing the balance of his burden, settled down again on his knee; then, grunting "Alley oop!" began to rise--but before he could really straighten out, his legs suddenly buckled and he shoved the board away with his feet to avoid being struck as they fell off. This time when the Baby Gar came back it was apparent to all the passengers that he was angry. "Do you mind if I try that once more?" he called, treading water. "We almost had it then." "Sure. Go ahead." To Nicole he looked white-around-the-gills, and she cautioned him: "Don't you think that's enough for now?" He didn't answer. The first partner had had plenty and was hauled over the side, the Mexican driving the motor boat obligingly took his place. He was heavier than the first man. As the boat gathered motion, Dick rested for a moment, belly-down on the board. Then he got beneath the man and took the rope, and his muscles flexed as he tried to rise. He could not rise. Nicole saw him shift his position and strain upward again but at the instant when the weight of his partner was full upon his shoulders he became immovable. He tried again--lifting an inch, two inches--Nicole felt the sweat glands of her forehead open as she strained with him--then he was simply holding his ground, then he collapsed back down on his knees with a smack, and they went over, Dick's head barely missing a kick of the board. "Hurry back!" Nicole called to the driver; even as she spoke she saw him slide under water and she gave a little cry; but he came up again and turned on his back, and "Château" swam near to help. It seemed forever till the boat reached them but when they came alongside at last and Nicole saw Dick floating exhausted and expressionless, alone with the water and the sky, her panic changed suddenly to contempt.

-Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night -Dick driven to Rosemary as her fame is growing but this stunt goes terribly wrong- try to raise somebody above him but physically cannot rise due to the pressure from the weight. He fails and fails again as Rosemary is full of anxiety -He tried a famous stunt that he use to be able to do but he tries a third time (third times the charm) and people finally see he cannot be relied on

Baby was waiting with a doctor in a taxi-cab. Dick did not want to look at her and he disliked the doctor, whose stern manner revealed him as one of that least palpable of European types, the Latin moralist. Dick summed up his conception of the disaster, but no one had much to say. In his room in the Quirinal the doctor washed off the rest of the blood and the oily sweat, set his nose, his fractured ribs and fingers, disinfected the smaller wounds and put a hopeful dressing on the eye. Dick asked for a quarter of a grain of morphine, for he was still wide awake and full of nervous energy. With the morphine he fell asleep; the doctor and Collis left and Baby waited with him until a woman could arrive from the English nursing home. It had been a hard night but she had the satisfaction of feeling that, whatever Dick's previous record was, they now possessed a moral superiority over him for as long as he proved of any use.

-Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night -Dick had a moral to live up to and sought to live up to it, but later many people question if he can still do it

I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited. People were not invited--they went there. They got into automobiles which bore them out to Long Island and somehow they ended up at Gatsby's door. Once there they were introduced by somebody who knew Gatsby and after that they conducted themselves according to the rules of behavior associated with amusement parks. Sometimes they came and went without having met Gatsby at all, came for the party with a simplicity of heart that was its own ticket of admission.

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Association with an amusement park as an elaborate extended metaphor. Amusement parks are chaotic nobody lives there as you get your senses stimulated and then leave, but Gatsby lives here -People did things that can endanger one another and develops a notion of creative free-form of dancing

With it flowed Albert McKisco, labelled by the newspapers as its most precious cargo. McKisco was having a vogue. His novels were pastiches of the work of the best people of his time, a feat not to be disparaged, and in addition he possessed a gift for softening and debasing what he borrowed, so that many readers were charmed by the ease with which they could follow him. Success had improved him and humbled him. He was no fool about his capacities--he realized that he possessed more vitality than many men of superior talent, and he was resolved to enjoy the success he had earned. "I've done nothing yet," he would say. "I don't think I've got any real genius. But if I keep trying I may write a good book." Fine dives have been made from flimsier spring-boards. The innumerable snubs of the past were forgotten. Indeed, his success was founded psychologically upon his duel with Tommy Barban, upon the basis of which, as it withered in his memory, he had created, afresh, a new self-respect.

-Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night -McKisco writes much simpler pieces of literature because he realizes over time that Ulysses had his stories occur in in 24 hours fro a reason and can't write one that takes place over 100 years. He realizes that doing this takes a lot of talent -He is perfectly fine with this aspect of himself- reminds the reader of Tommy Barban who struck at the right place and the right time and ended up with Nicole -McKisco becomes someone people can be drawn to but it was not like this in the beginning but once he realizes he won't write the great American novel, he decides to settle fro this

"Why, I'm almost complete," she thought. "I'm practically standing alone, without him." And like a happy child, wanting the completion as soon as possible, and knowing vaguely that Dick had planned for her to have it, she lay on her bed as soon as she got home and wrote Tommy Barban in Nice a short provocative letter.

-Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night -Nicole thinks that she is thriving in this instance and appoints herself as a sacrificial offer as she desires a change -Not looking fro a new husband as she acknowledges her family comes from crooks

After conducting Dick to his office, Franz excused himself for half an hour. Left alone Dick wandered about the room and tried to reconstruct Franz from the litter of his desk, from his books and the books of and by his father and grandfather; from the Swiss piety of a huge claret-colored photo of the former on the wall. There was smoke in the room; pushing open a French window, Dick let in a cone of sunshine. Suddenly his thoughts swung to the patient, the girl. He had received about fifty letters from her written over a period of eight months. The first one was apologetic, 130 explaining that she had heard from America how girls wrote to soldiers whom they did not know. She had obtained the name and address from Doctor Gregory and she hoped he would not mind if she sometimes sent word to wish him well, etc., etc. So far it was easy to recognize the tone—from "Daddy LongLegs" and "Molly-Make-Believe," sprightly and sentimental epistolary collections enjoying a vogue in the States. But there the resemblance ended. The letters were divided into two classes, of which the first class, up to about the time of the armistice, was of marked pathological turn, and of which the second class, running from thence up to the present, was entirely normal, and displayed a richly maturing nature. For these latter letters Dick had come to wait eagerly in the last dull months at Bar-sur-Aube—yet even from the first letters he had pieced together more than Franz would have guessed of the story.

-Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night -To be a psychologist, you need to go to a European clinic to make a name fro yourself -Beginning of epistilastory style- obsessively writing but he is also saving this as a form of evidence -Patient has schizophrenia- can have a brief moment on feeling like you are talking through a different voice so take anti-psychotic- Dick is on the cutting edge of this research so he, as a scientist, saved all of it and these letters document this process -classic transference that comes from a build of trust- Zelda, Fitzgerald's wife, had serious breakdowns since she had schizophrenia

Dick's bitterness had surprised Rosemary, who had thought of him as all-forgiving, all-comprehending. Suddenly she recalled what it was she had heard about him. In conversation with some State Department people on the boat,--Europeanized Americans who had reached a position where they could scarcely have been said to belong to any nation at all, at least not to any great power though perhaps to a Balkan-like state composed of similar citizens--the name of the ubiquitously renowned Baby Warren had occurred and it was remarked that Baby's younger sister had thrown herself away on a dissipated doctor. "He's not received anywhere any more," the woman said.

-Fitzgerald, Tender is the night -"unbiquitness" means everywhere -"Dissipated" means that talent is squandered -Alcoholic decline highlighted from his abuse as a doctor in his position

"Under the stars," she repeated. "I never noticed the stars before. I always thought of them as great big diamonds that belonged to some one. Now they frighten me. They make me feel that it was all a dream, all my youth." "It was a dream," said John quietly. "Everybody's youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness." "How pleasant then to be insane!" "So I'm told," said John gloomily. "I don't know any longer. At any rate, let us love for a while, for a year or so, you and me. That's a form of divine drunkenness that we can all try. There are only diamonds in the whole world, diamonds and perhaps the shabby gift of disillusion. Well, I have that last and I will make the usual nothing of it." He shivered. "Turn up your coat collar, little girl, the night's full of chill and you'll get pneumonia. His was a great sin who first invented consciousness. Let us lose it for a few hours."

-Fitzgerald, The Diamond as Big as the Ritz -Form of chemical madness- testosterone and chemicals develop youth and he is faced with a new world where everything can be explained from a chemical formula- all you had was the moment fro a little while, so might as well get drunk from it

"Will father be there?" she asked John turned to her in astonishment. "Your father is dead," he replied somberly. "Why should he go to Hades? You have it confused with another place that was abolished long ago."

-Fitzgerald, The Diamond as Big as the Ritz -If you still have pre-WWI beliefs of heaven and hell, you will not survive

About half way between West Egg and New York the motor-road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes--a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud which screens their obscure operations from your sight. But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic--their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then sank down himself into eternal blindness or forgot them and moved away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days under sun and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground.

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Allegory to T.S. Elliot "The Wasteland" that renders artistry to give you an antithesis to the scene you saw earlier -Dr. Eckelberg is an optomatrist as eyes preside over slums but he used to be a prominent business man in Queens- the lost hope in America that is more obvious when the Depression comes around.

"About that. As a matter of fact you needn't bother to ascertain. I ascertained. They're real." "The books?" He nodded. "Absolutely real--have pages and everything. I thought they'd be a nice durable cardboard. Matter of fact, they're absolutely real. Pages and--Here! Lemme show you." Taking our skepticism for granted, he rushed to the bookcases and returned with Volume One of the "Stoddard Lectures." "See!" he cried triumphantly. "It's a bona fide piece of printed matter. It fooled me. This fella's a regular Belasco. It's a triumph. What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop too--didn't cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?" He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was liable to collapse. "Who brought you?" he demanded. "Or did you just come? I was brought. Most people were brought." Jordan looked at him alertly, cheerfully without answering. "I was brought by a woman named Roosevelt," he continued. "Mrs. Claud Roosevelt. Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night. I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library." "Has it?" "A little bit, I think. I can't tell yet. I've only been here an hour. Did I tell you about the books? They're real. They're----" "You told us." We shook hands with him gravely and went back outdoors.

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Cut a page in a book to show that you are going to read it but none of them are cut, they are just fro show as Gatsby creates a realistic scene like a movie set- a design that convinces people that they are real -This is about having material objects and can show someone that they have wealth as books were work that people took time to build but he just uses it as a means to put something on display

Outside the wind was loud and there was a faint flow of thunder along the Sound. All the lights were going on in West Egg now; the electric trains, men-carrying, were plunging home through the rain from New York. It was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement was generating on the air. ONE THING'S SURE AND NOTHING'S SURER THE RICH GET RICHER AND THE POOR GET--CHILDREN. IN THE MEANTIME, IN BETWEEN TIME---- As I went over to say goodbye I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby's face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams--not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart. As I watched him he adjusted himself a little, visibly. His hand took hold of hers and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most with its fluctuating, feverish warmth because it couldn't be over-dreamed--that voice was a deathless song.

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Gatsby comes face to face with with her and realizes that his fantasized life of her is just his imagination- fulfillment is always the betrayal of potential and Gatsby finally succeeds in his rising action as this moment reinforces its own significance- work towards something and potential is all that consumes you and we cant help it since we are human but we never live up to our own imagination

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction--Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"--it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No--Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Gatsby is a man who can make you feel fluctuations miles away like an earthquake. A lot of people lose praise after the war but he did not -Nick has not met anyone like him before but his whole lifestyle is a falsehood because he is living a fake identity and has multiple fake identities to help it -This is when Nick tells the story years after it has happened and he is trying make sense of it all

And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night. Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning---- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Hidden glasses in this insane beauty- we are doomed as human beings to fall to delusion and humans set themselves up fro failure as we fight against the current in a fallen world -Believe in something to aspire to leads to an orgasmic future that will make us fully realized- connects to Fitzgerald's analysis of the American dream, if it is not worthy of your efforts, the effort put in is not worth it and completes us as Gatsby is considered in the end better than all the evil people -Aspiration is key here as the journey has its own unique humanistic aspect- product of the past and have a desire to repeat it

Poor Lena had no power to be strong in such trouble. She did not know how to yield to her sickness nor endure. She lost all her little sense of being in her suffering. She was so scared, and then at her best, Lena, who was patient, sweet and quiet, had not self-control, nor any active courage. Poor Lena was so scared and weak, and every minute she was sure that she would die.

-Gertrude Stein's, The Gentle Lena -No self control or act of courage- line it up with "what are the chances to thrive" and we are told from the language that this is someone who is doomed to not survive- serves as a contrast between Lena and those around her- explore social status- social determinism that if you are "part gentle" but also "weak" than you are going to fail as you are a victim of social structures

"You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?" I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way. "Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?" "Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone. "Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be--will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved." "Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them.What was that word we----" "Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things." "We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Naturalistic thinking as he appropriates Darwinian thinking to accommodate his own beliefs- ugly conversations in response to the scene

We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling--and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea. The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Optical illusion of an interplay of color and movement- draft created on a hot day brings the curtains up toward the ceiling- looking at a painting with the effect of movement as Fitzgerald, influenced by expressionist paintings, added a sense of artistry to get illusion of art and color. He developed a pallet of combinations

"I'm going to have the McKees come up," she announced as we rose in the elevator. "And of course I got to call up my sister, too." The apartment was on the top floor--a small living room, a small dining room, a small bedroom and a bath. The living room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for it so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The only picture was an over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. Looked at from a distance however the hen resolved itself into a bonnet and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the room. Several old copies of "Town Tattle "lay on the table together with a copy of "Simon Called Peter" and some of the small scandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant elevator boy went for a box full of straw and some milk to which he added on his own initiative a tin of large hard dog biscuits--one of which decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whiskey from a locked bureau door.

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Photographers were artists that had artistic tendencies but can't quite get them out

He opened it at the back cover and turned it around for me to see. On the last fly-leaf was printed the word SCHEDULE, and the date September 12th, 1906. And underneath: Rise from bed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.00 A.M. Dumbbell exercise and wall-scaling . . . . . . 6.15-6.30 " Study electricity, etc . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.15-8.15 " Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .8.30-4.30 P.M. Baseball and sports . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.30-5.00 " Practice elocution, poise and how to attain it 5.00-6.00 " Study needed inventions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.00-9.00 " GENERAL RESOLVES No wasting time at Shafters or [a name, indecipherable] No more smokeing or chewing Bath every other day Read one improving book or magazine per week Save $5.00 [crossed out] $3.00 per week Be better to parents

-Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -Schedule is written behind American Western novel and it is something James Gat's found. James is Jay's father and he knew his son would become big but Gatsby still cared about his parents -Studies and develops inventions- things that have not been invented yet- Immigrants come from Europe and bring inventions as there was a time of the rise of the American businessman who shows that an invention can come a long way -Fitzgerald emphasizes the idea of one trying to better themselves through a strict set of rules- Ben Franklin invented things like fire departments, postal systems, harnessing electricity and public libraries

No telephone message arrived, but the butler went without his sleep and waited for it until four o'clockuntil long after there was any one to give it to if it came. I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn't believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was true 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 an 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 real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about . . .

-Fitzgerald, the Great Gatsby -Beautiful language to show how despondent Gatsby was before he died- Wilson moves through the trees to kill Gatsby- we do not know what kind of Grotesque Gatsby was

I was young then but I can still see those young men in San Francisco, those middle-western young men of twenty and twenty-one, with their underdeveloped necks, their rather doughy faces, I see why they call them dough-boys, they are like that between twenty and twenty-one, they go to sleep anywhere sitting or standing.

-Gertrude Stein's America -I was young then but I can still see those young men in San Francisco, those middle-western young men of twenty and twenty-one, with their underdeveloped necks, their rather doughy faces, I see why they call them dough-boys, they are like that between twenty and twenty-one, they go to sleep anywhere sitting or standing.

I have always wanted to write about how ones state differs from another. It is so strange that the lines are ruled lines on paper, I never can stop having pleasure in the way that ruled lines separate one state from another. Ohio from Indiana Kansas from Nebraska Tennessee from Alabama, it always gives me a shock of pleasure the American map and its straight lines and compare it to any other with the way they go all over nothing neat and clean like the maps of America. Well that is the way the earth looked to me as we flew to Chicago. They all came and talked to me the pilots and the stewardesses and then I went into the pilot place and talked to them and I sat down in one of their chairs and made the wheel move a little and it was all a pleasant matter but most of all the looking down and finding it a real America. Straight lines and quarter sections, and the mountain lines in Pennsylvania very straight lines, it made it right that I had always been with cubism and everything that followed after

-Gertrude Stein's America -Robert Frost celebrates the idea that a farmer walks in to the woods and finds a stack of wood, carefully stacked but forgotten, but somebody stacked it and asks what someone was doing in that time- notion of form and saw the world as chaotic so created form or order- lines on paper are a statement against chaos in the universe and Stein borrows from this- cubism restored here to alter perspective in an airplane and when you have to look down, you make an adjustment to see this with new eyes and open eyes to see things in a new perspective

After about forty kilometers, we say on the road some american ambulance men. Where can we get our car fixed. Just a little farther they said. We went a little farther and there found an american ambulance outfit. They had no extra mud-guard but they could give us a new triangle. I told our troubles to the sergeant, he grunted and said a word in an undertone to a mechanic. Then turning to us he said gruffly, run-her-in. Then the mechanic took off his tunic and threw it over the radiator. As Gertrude Stein said when any American did that the car was his.

-Gertrude Stein's, America -Excerpt from autobiography written by Stein and experiments with point of view- American is not capitalized since WWI did not change everything and as WWII ended, she finally capitalizes American as US rebuilds Europe and a larger view of what is at stake is developed

It is not true, as she thought, that "one is always proud of the places your people come from," but it was true fro her. She wrote, in Things As They Are, of Adele going to Boston and steeping herself "in the very essence of clear-eyed Americanism. Fro days she wandered about the Boston streets rejoicing in the passionless intelligence of the faces. She reveled in the American streetcar crowd with its ready intercourse, free comments and airy persiflage all without double meanings which created an atmosphere that never suggested fro a moment the need to be on guard. It was a cleanliness that began far inside of these people and was kept persistently washed by a constant current of clean cold water." The time was the turn of the current of clean cold water." The time was the turn of the century, and today that may not be "the very essence of clear-eyed Americanism." But it remained so to her. "You're the flagpole on which it all stands, "her friend Sylvia Beach told her after they had come to know each other in Paris. She said of herself that "she was not efficient, she was good humored, she was democratic, one person was as good as another, and she knew what she wanted done." And she added that "if you like that... anybody will do anything fro you. The important thing... is that you must have deep down as the deepest thing in you a sense of equality

-Gertrude Stein's, America -People with no tenderness from equality affects her view of middle class- she is one Darwin would say succeeded and not the others and made life goal to help the less fit

On the advice of professor James, she entered Johns Hopkins Medical School, but by the time of final exams she had decided that medicine bored her, She blinthely dismissed the medical degree that was just within reach, left America and went to Paris to join her brother Leo

-Gertrude Stein's, America -She had William James as a professor and James was the brother of Henry James who was a modernist writer. He saw something in Stein and advises her that she can be talked about across the country if she dedicates herself to writing

After every war, there have only been two like that but I do not think that just to say after the other war makes it feel as it does, no I do mean after every war, it feels like that, after every war when I talk and listen to all our army, it feels like that too, the thing I like most are the names of all the states of the United States. They make music and they are poetry, you do not have to recite them all but you just say any one two three four or five of them and you will see they make and they make poetry

-Gertrude Stein's, America -Style derived from her poetry as some things repeat over and over again and dispense with normal grammatical forms as sentences blend to one another - Patriotism, Biblical, celebration of the common and the ordinary- connected to Emerson's "the poet" where he looks fro the great American poet and Whitman said he was the "great American poet" in "Leaves of Grass." She sees veterans of WWII and I, and a poem in our eyes as they are all derived from different states

Gertrude Stein came of a well-to-do middle class family, and fro her the middle class always remained "the very best the world can ever know." In Things as they are, Helen asks her friend to explain what she means by calling herself middle class: "From the little I have seen of you I think that you are quite right when you say you are reasonable and just but surely to understand others and even to understand oneself is the last thing a middle class person cares to do." Adele (Miss Stein) replies: "I never claimed to be middle class in my intellect and truth, I probably have the experience of all apostles, I am rejected by the class whose cause I preach but that has nothing to do with the case. I simply contend that the middle class ideal which demands that people be affectionate, respectable, honest and content, that they avoid excitements and cultivate serenity is the ideal that appeals to me, it is in short the ideal of affectionate family life, of honorable business methods"

-Gertrude Stein's, America -Upper middle class and the middle class focus is very important to her as she celebrates aspects of middle class people- from Pennsylvania and her parents were from California, giving her a larger geographic range than most people know

Mrs. Haydon was very angry with poor Lena when she saw her. She scolded her hard because she was so foolish, and now Herman had gone off and nobody could tell where he had gone to, and all because Lena always was so dumb and silly. And Mrs. Haydon was just like a mother to her, and Lena always stood there so stupid and did not answer what anybody asked her, and Herman was so silly too, and now his father had to go and find him. Mrs. Haydon did not think that any old people should be good to their children. Their children always were so thankless, and never paid any attention, and older people were always doing things for their good. Did Lena think it gave Mrs. Haydon any pleasure, to work so hard to make Lena happy, and get her a good husband, and then Lena was so thankless and never did anything that anybody wanted. It was a lesson to poor Mrs. Haydon not to do things any more for anybody. Let everybody take care of themselves and never come to her with any troubles; she knew better now than to meddle to make other people happy. It just made trouble for her and her husband did not like it. He always said she was too good, and nobody ever thanked her for it, and there Lena was always standing stupid and not answering anything anybody wanted. Lena could always talk enough to those silly girls she liked so much, and always sat with, but who never did anything for her except to take away her money, and here was her aunt who tried so hard and was so good to her and treated her just like one of her own children and Lena stood there, and never made any answer and never tried to please her aunt, or to do anything that her aunt wanted. "No, it ain't no use your standin' there and cryin', now, Lena. Its too late now to care about that Herman. You should have cared some before, and then you wouldn't have to stand and cry now, and be a disappointment to me, and then I get scolded by my husband for taking care of everybody, and nobody ever thankful. I am glad you got the sense to feel sorry now, Lena, anyway, and I try to do what I can to help you out in your trouble, only you don't deserve to have anybody take any trouble for you. But perhaps you know better next time. You go home now and take care you don't spoil your clothes and that new hat, you had no business to be wearin' that this morning, but you ain't got no sense at all, Lena. I never in my life see anybody be so stupid.

-Gertrude Stein's, The Gentle Lena -Immigrants come to a democracy and deserve an opportunity but if you are an Irish immigrant, they can forget it as a lot of German families that came to the new world were hard working as they moved to the Midwest where hard work distinguished them from the rest of the immigrants. -Stereotype of immigrants were hard working but she showed people that German women don't have that and want to have an opportunity fro independence- Stein is an accomplished writer and is a descendent of immigrant with opportunities but questions what would her life been like if her family heritage did not help her end up here- Darwinian thinking puts a strain on her role in society

Lena was the second girl in her large family. She was at this time just seventeen years old. Lena was not an important daughter in the family. She was always sort of dreamy and not there. She worked hard and went very regularly at it, but even good work never seemed to bring her near. Lena's age just suited Mrs. Haydon's purpose. Lena could first go out to service, and learn how to do things, and then, when she was a little older, Mrs. Haydon could get her a good husband. And then Lena was so still and docile, she would never want to do things her own way. And then, too, Mrs. Haydon, with all her hardness had wisdom, and she could feel the rarer strain there was in Lena. Lena was willing to go with Mrs. Haydon. Lena did not like her german life very well. It was not the hard work but the roughness that disturbed her. The people were not gentle, and the men when they were glad were very boisterous, and would lay hold of her and roughly tease her. They were good people enough around her, but it was all harsh and dreary for her. Lena did not really know that she did not like it. She did not know that she was always dreamy and not there. She did not think whether it would be different for her away off there in Bridgepoint. Mrs. Haydon took her and got her different kinds of dresses, and then took her with them to the steamer. Lena did not really know what it was that had happened to her.

-Gertrude Stein's, The Gentle Lena -Who gives judgment? Lena is told to get herself in to a decent marriage- a rare strain from Lena as it is society telling her what she should do but she has no input -By virtue of her marriage is in a controlled society and it is hard to break from these determined identities- pity played on here but not a lot of deep sympathy as she wants to show the experience and plight of immigrants- contradict American dream since you cannot escape your constrain as a woman- "gentle" is good since they can get her married off but Lena does not have a strong opinion as she might have a chance to changer her lifestyle but in this case, that is not the truth -Herman is a male parallel since he does not have a constrain- most people get married so you should have a plan if it does not work out

Individuals, families, nations in their uniqueness and sameness absorbed her, and so did in so far as they accurately expressed "things as they are." The other kind of ideas were those held by what she called intellectual people, of whom she had "a horror." She questioned closely and listened to the answers. She spoke firmly, often beginning with the command: "Now look!" In another, the manner would have been arrogant. In her it seemed plain and sensible. But talking fro her was not creation. "Remarks," she told Hemingway, "are not literature," nor is recollection, however interesting. She once described talking with several American reporters and a photographer. "You know it's funny," she told them, "that the photographer is one of the lot of you who looks as if he were intelligent and who is listening now why is that, you do I said to the photographer you do understand what I'm talking about, don't you. 'Of course I do,' he said, 'you see I can listen to what you say because I don't have to remember what you are saying, they can't listen because they've got to remember." And Miss Stein added, "I found that very interesting and of course if is so, of course nobody can listen if they have to remember what they are hearing. That is the trouble with newspapers and teaching with government and history.

-Gertrude Steins, America -Told she was a starter and self made- notion of space in an art gallery changed to sit and see a painting at a certain distance and up close, giving you the advantage to see it fro a new perspective to open up -She called this "sublimity" which is in order to experience, you need to drop back to experience something sometimes- this is like if you are touching mount Everest with your hands versus seeing it from far away in its glory

In Nevers, they met the doughboys: "There we first hear what Gertrude Stein calls the sad song of the marines, which tells how everybody else in the american army has at some time mutinied, but the marines never." They spent an evening at the YMCA in Nevers and "saw fro the first time in many years americans just americans, the kind that would not naturally ever have come to Europe." Miss Stein wanted to know "what state and what city they came from, what they did, how old they were and how they liked it." One of those soldiers described her "sandals buckled on over the ankles, a full skirt, knitted vest and shirtwaist with sleeves gathered at the wrists... homely with no elegance at all, and still somehow regal

-Gertrude Steins, America -WWI soldiers are young and saw them as vulnerable. She calls them doughboys in WWI and would be called GI in WWII- people were called this since they were "government issued" but it simply reduced people to objects that are sent to other nations- GI becomes GI Joe (like ordinary Joes) as they should be admired

By and by Lena had two more little babies. Lena was not so much scared now when she had the babies. She did not seem to notice very much when they hurt her, and she never seemed to feel very much now about anything that happened to her. They were very nice babies, all these three that Lena had, and Herman took good care of them always. Herman never really cared much about his wife, Lena. The only things Herman ever really cared for were his babies. Herman always was very good to his children. He always had a gentle, tender way when he held them. He learned to be very handy with them. He spent all the time he was not working, with them. By and by he began to work all day in his own home so that he could have his children always in the same room with him. Lena always was more and more lifeless and Herman now mostly never thought about her. He more and more took all the care of their three children. He saw to their eating right and their washing, and he dressed them every morning, and he taught them the right way to do things, and he put them to their sleeping, and he was now always every minute with them. Then there was to come to them, a fourth baby. Lena went to the hospital near by to have the baby. Lena seemed to be going to have much trouble with it. When the baby was come out at last, it was like its mother lifeless. While it was coming, Lena had grown very pale and sicker. When it was all over Lena had died, too, and nobody knew just how it had happened to her.

-Gertrude Steins, The Gentle Lena --She dies in childbirth but feels less and less and the question was if she was capable of feeling anything at all- never had a sense of identity until now but almost has a sense of detachment from being a mother and feels less and less as a result of this- should have more life not that she is a mother but she is also becoming less of a character to move from living dead to actual dead from child birth- symbolic of how the universe gets bored with some people they just die and are forgotten forever

Lena's german voice when she knocked and called the family in the morning was as awakening, as soothing, and as appealing, as a delicate soft breeze in midday, summer. She stood in the hallway every morning a long time in her unexpectant and unsuffering german patience calling to the young ones to get up. She would call and wait a long time and then call again, always even, gentle, patient, while the young ones fell back often into that precious, tense, last bit of sleeping that gives a strength of joyous vigor in the young, over them that have come to the readiness of middle age, in their awakening. Lena had good hard work all morning, and on the pleasant, sunny afternoons she was sent out into the park to sit and watch the little two year old girl baby of the family. The other girls, all them that make the pleasant, lazy crowd, that watch the children in the sunny afternoons out in the park, all liked the simple, gentle, german Lena very well. They all, too, liked very well to tease her, for it was so easy to make her mixed and troubled, and all helpless, for she could never learn to know just what the other quicker girls meant by the queer things they said.

-Gertrude Steins, The Gentle Lena -Lena likes that she is a servant, liked by the people she is in servitude to- Lena does not have the knowledge she is being made fun of and she is not a survivor but someone who can be hurt nonetheless

Jesse Bentley went along under the trees with his head bowed and with his mind in a ferment. His earnestness affected the boy, who presently became silent and a little alarmed. Into the old man's mind had come the notion that now he could bring from God a word or a sign out of the sky, that the presence of the boy and man on their knees in some lonely spot in the forest would make the miracle he had been waiting for almost inevitable. "It was in just such a place as this that other David tended the sheep when his father came and told him to go down unto Saul," he muttered. Taking the boy rather roughly by the shoulder, he climbed over a fallen log and when he had come to an open place among the trees he dropped upon his knees and began to pray in a loud voice. A kind of terror he had never known before took possession of David. Crouching beneath a tree he watched the man on the ground before him and his own knees began to tremble. It seemed to him that he was in the presence not only of his grandfather but of someone else, someone who might hurt him, someone who was not kindly but dangerous and brutal. He began to cry and reaching down picked up a small stick, which he held tightly gripped in his fingers. When Jesse Bentley, absorbed in his own idea, suddenly arose and advanced toward him, his terror grew until his whole body shook. In the woods an intense silence seemed to lie over everything and suddenly out of the silence came the old man's harsh and insistent voice. Gripping the boy's shoulders, Jesse turned his face to the sky and shouted. The whole left side of his face twitched and his hand on the boy's shoulder twitched also. "Make a sign to me, God," he cried. "Here I stand with the boy David. Come down to me out of the sky and make Thy presence known to me."

-Godliness Part II, Winesburg, Ohio -In our American history, we describe this as puritan thought and he Jesse himself as a puritan figure as he would like to live the Biblical stories- took bits of pieces and weaves a narrative of his own as he will not be like the tribes of Israel until David comes and he becomes the villain later on- Puritanical thinking tells him to buy in to machines as we like power and machines help us do hard work

That is what Jesse hungered for and then also he hungered for something else. He had grown into maturity in America in the years after the Civil War and he, like all men of his time, had been touched by the deep influences that were at work in the country during those years when modem industrialism was being born. He began to buy machines that would permit him to do the work of the farms while employing fewer men and he sometimes thought that if he were a younger man he would give up farming altogether and start a factory in Winesburg for the making of machinery. Jesse formed the habit of reading newspapers and magazines. He invented a machine for the making of fence out of wire. Faintly he realized that the atmosphere of old times and places that he had always cultivated in his own mind was strange and foreign to the thing that was growing up in the minds of others. The beginning of the most materialistic age in the history of the world, when wars would be fought without patriotism, when men would forget God and only pay attention to moral standards, when the will to power would replace the will to serve and beauty would be well-nigh forgotten in the terrible headlong rush of mankind toward the acquiring of possessions, was telling its story to Jesse the man of God as it was to the men about him. The greedy thing in him wanted to make money faster than it could be made by tilling the land.

-Godliness Part II, Winesburg, Ohio -WWI froshadowed that affected the Lost Generation as the greedy thing in him hoped to make money faster than taking care of the land

Quote 1: Adolph Myers was driven from the Pennsylvania town in the night. With lanterns in their hands a dozen men came to the door of the house where he lived alone and commanded that he dress and come forth. It was raining and one of the men had a rope in his hands. They had intended to hang the schoolmaster, but something in his figure, so small, white, and pitiful, touched their hearts and they let him escape. As he ran away into the darkness they repented of their weakness and ran after him, swearing and throwing sticks and great balls of soft mud at the figure that screamed and ran faster and faster into the darkness. Quote 2: Upon the veranda of his house by the ravine, Wing Biddlebaum continued to walk up and down until the sun had disappeared and the road beyond the field was lost in the grey shadows. Going into his house he cut slices of bread and spread honey upon them. When the rumble of the evening train that took away the express cars loaded with the day's harvest of berries had passed and restored the silence of the summer night, he went again to walk upon the veranda. In the darkness he could not see the hands and they became quiet. Although he still hungered for the presence of the boy, who was the medium through which he expressed his love of man, the hunger became again a part of his loneliness and his waiting. Lighting a lamp, Wing Biddlebaum washed the few dishes soiled by his simple meal and, setting up a folding cot by the screen door that led to the porch, prepared to undress for the night. A few stray white bread crumbs lay on the cleanly washed floor by the table; putting the lamp upon a low stool he began to pick up the crumbs, carrying them to his mouth one by one with unbelievable rapidity. In the dense blotch of light beneath the table, the kneeling figure looked like a priest engaged in some service of his church. The nervous expressive fingers, flashing in and out of the light, might well have been mistaken for the fingers of the devotee going swiftly through decade after decade of his rosary.

-Hands, Winesburg, Ohio -Before this, we have repetitive behavior of his hands and in this scene it looks like he is praying- closing a scene where a religious imagery is used but combined in a secular theme to truly show that there is no religion -Mob drove him out but he has pity and it is more animal like than not- phenomena of story leads to another subject

The story of Wing Biddlebaum is a story of hands. Their restless activity, like unto the beating of the wings of an imprisoned bird, had given him his name. Some obscure poet of the town had thought of it. The hands alarmed their owner. He wanted to keep them hidden away and looked with amazement at the quiet inexpressive hands of other men who worked beside him in the fields, or passed, driving sleepy teams on country roads. When he talked to George Willard, Wing Biddlebaum closed his fists and beat with them upon a table or on the walls of his house. The action made him more comfortable. If the desire to talk came to him when the two were walking in the fields, he sought out a stump or the top board of a fence and with his hands pounding busily talked with renewed ease. The story of Wing Biddlebaum's hands is worth a book in itself. Sympathetically set forth it would tap many strange, beautiful qualities in obscure men. It is a job for a poet. In Winesburg the hands had attracted attention merely because of their activity. With them Wing Biddlebaum had picked as high as a hundred and forty quarts of strawberries in a day. They became his distinguishing feature, the source of his fame. Also they made more grotesque an already grotesque and elusive individuality. Winesburg was proud of the hands of Wing Biddlebaum in the same spirit in which it was proud of Banker White's new stone house and Wesley Moyer's bay stallion, Tony Tip, that had won the two-fifteen trot at the fall races in Cleveland. As for George Willard, he had many times wanted to ask about the hands. At times an almost overwhelming curiosity had taken hold of him. He felt that there must be a reason for their strange activity and their inclination to keep hidden away and only a growing respect for Wing Biddlebaum kept him from blurting out the questions that were often in his mind.

-Hands, Winesburg, Ohio -Hands are associated with godliness-emphasis on the hands in these texts as he is comparing man to machine as he is the piston rods of things that pump fuel in to the machine as artistry is striped from them and Anderson says he will make art if people cannot make art anymore -This text is connected to enlightenment and classical projects- mentions his hands and questions if it could be great that he inspires people as it gets him into trouble- object of pity, and the idea is not to get emotionally involved but just to feel pity

By the door of her son's room the mother knelt upon the floor and listened for some sound from within. When she heard the boy moving about and talking in low tones a smile came to her lips. George Willard had a habit of talking aloud to himself and to hear him doing so had always given his mother a peculiar pleasure. The habit in him, she felt, strengthened the secret bond that existed between them. A thousand times she had whispered to herself of the matter. "He is groping about, trying to find himself," she thought. "He is not a dull clod, all words and smartness. Within him there is a secret something that is striving to grow. It is the thing I let be killed in myself." In the darkness in the hallway by the door the sick woman arose and started again toward her own room. She was afraid that the door would open and the boy come upon her. When she had reached a safe distance and was about to turn a corner into a second hallway she stopped and bracing herself with her hands waited, thinking to shake off a trembling fit of weakness that had come upon her. The presence of the boy in the room had made her happy. In her bed, during the long hours alone, the little fears that had visited her had become giants. Now they were all gone. "When I get back to my room I shall sleep," she murmured gratefully.

-Mother, Winesburg, Ohio -"Mother" trying to protect her son but is critiqued fro being an alpha female presence and wants to live things through her son- baby boomers wanted their children to have everything they never got so they were more controlling and could not let anyone do anything fro themselves -George Willard has aspects of grotesqueness and when mother heals him, we find out that she wants George to be someone who can be allowed to express himself

And then there was the second expression of her restlessness. When that came she felt for a time released and happy. She did not blame the men who walked with her and later she did not blame Tom Willard. It was always the same, beginning with kisses and ending, after strange wild emotions, with peace and then sobbing repentance. When she sobbed she put her hand upon the face of the man and had always the same thought. Even though he were large and bearded she thought he had become suddenly a little boy. She wondered why he did not sob also. In her room, tucked away in a corner of the old Willard House, Elizabeth Willard lighted a lamp and put it on a dressing table that stood by the door. A thought had come into her mind and she went to a closet and brought out a small square box and set it on the table. The box contained material for make-up and had been left with other things by a theatrical company that had once been stranded in Winesburg. Elizabeth Willard had decided that she would be beautiful. Her hair was still black and there was a great mass of it braided and coiled about her head. The scene that was to take place in the office below began to grow in her mind. No ghostly worn-out figure should confront Tom Willard, but something quite unexpected and startling. Tall and with dusky cheeks and hair that fell in a mass from her shoulders, a figure should come striding down the stairway before the startled loungers in the hotel office. The figure would be silent—it would be swift and terrible. As a tigress whose cub had been threatened would she appear, coming out of the shadows, stealing noiselessly along and holding the long wicked scissors in her hand. The son shook his head. "I suppose I can't make you understand, but oh, I wish I could," he said earnestly. "I can't even talk to father about it. I don't try. There isn't any use. I don't know what I shall do. I just want to go away and look at people and think."

-Mother, Winesburg, Ohio -Always a light that goes out, things repressed can come out as they stand weak and trembling in the darkness and hopes to have cinematic scene but it does not happen- son shook his head and the irony of this is that the mother wants him to be an artist but the dad want him to be a business man but George is unable to communicate with what he thinks and they are left with awkwardness and silence- pressures from father but each is imposing their dreams and when he should be responding in a way fro the father to appreciate, they are disappointed

The young newspaper reporter had received a letter from Louise Trunnion. It had come that morning to the office of the Winesburg Eagle. The letter was brief. "I'm yours if you want me," it said. He thought it annoying that in the darkness by the fence she had pretended there was nothing between them. "She has a nerve! Well, gracious sakes, she has a nerve," he muttered as he went along the street and passed a row of vacant lots where corn grew. The corn was shoulder high and had been planted right down to the sidewalk. When Louise Trunnion came out of the front door of her house she still wore the gingham dress in which she had been washing dishes. There was no hat on her head. The boy could see her standing with the doorknob in her hand talking to someone within, no doubt to old Jake Trunnion, her father. Old Jake was half deaf and she shouted. The door closed and everything was dark and silent in the little side street. George Willard trembled more violently than ever. In the shadows by Williams' barn George and Louise stood, not daring to talk. She was not particularly comely and there was a black smudge on the side of her nose. George thought she must have rubbed her nose with her finger after she had been handling some of the kitchen pots. The young man began to laugh nervously. "It's warm," he said. He wanted to touch her with his hand. "I'm not very bold," he thought. Just to touch the folds of the soiled gingham dress would, he decided, be an exquisite pleasure. She began to quibble. "You think you're better than I am. Don't tell me, I guess I know," she said drawing closer to him. A flood of words burst from George Willard. He remembered the look that had lurked in the girl's eyes when they had met on the streets and thought of the note she had written. Doubt left him. The whispered tales concerning her that had gone about town gave him confidence. He became wholly the male, bold and aggressive. In his heart there was no sympathy for her. "Ah, come on, it'll be all right. There won't be anyone know anything. How can they know?" he urged. They began to walk along a narrow brick sidewalk between the cracks of which tall weeds grew. Some of the bricks were missing and the sidewalk was rough and irregular. He took hold of her hand that was also rough and thought it delightfully small. "I can't go far," she said and her voice was quiet, unperturbed. They crossed a bridge that ran over a tiny stream and passed another vacant lot in which corn grew. The street ended. In the path at the side of the road they were compelled to walk one behind the other. Will Overton's berry field lay beside the road and there was a pile of boards. "Will is going to build a shed to store berry crates here," said George and they sat down upon the boards.

-Nobody Knows, Winesburg, Ohio -Not a huge moment of import, but we don't know how sexual it got- he would like to talk to a man about it so the simple act of touching someone's clothing becomes the motion and serves as a functional connection. Someone who gets passed the inner desire and he carries this feeling fro the rest of his life

Looking cautiously about, George Willard arose from his desk in the office of the Winesburg Eagle and went hurriedly out at the back door. The night was warm and cloudy and although it was not yet eight o'clock, the alleyway back of the Eagle office was pitch dark. A team of horses tied to a post somewhere in the darkness stamped on the hard-baked ground. A cat sprang from under George Willard's feet and ran away into the night. The young man was nervous. All day he had gone about his work like one dazed by a blow. In the alleyway he trembled as though with fright George Willard found Louise Trunnion in the kitchen of her father's house. She was washing dishes by the light of a kerosene lamp. There she stood behind the screen door in the little shedlike kitchen at the back of the house. George Willard stopped by a picket fence and tried to control the shaking of his body. Only a narrow potato patch separated him from the adventure. Five minutes passed before he felt sure enough of himself to call to her. "Louise! Oh, Louise!" he called. The cry stuck in his throat. His voice became a hoarse whisper.

-Nobody Knows, Winesburg, Ohio -Wanting something to happen and desiring an adventure (not an admirable adventure since he wants to have sex with her) but a potato patch separates him from her and he loses his courage as he loses contact with young woman- attraction between them and even if he can touch her dress he thinks that there will be realization of true love but she expresses her thoughts and breaks the connection

The story of Doctor Reefy and his courtship of the tall dark girl who became his wife and left her money to him is a very curious story. It is delicious, like the twisted little apples that grow in the orchards of Winesburg. In the fall one walks in the orchards and the ground is hard with frost underfoot. The apples have been taken from the trees by the pickers. They have been put in barrels and shipped to the cities where they will be eaten in apartments that are filled with books, magazines, furniture, and people. On the trees are only a few gnarled apples that the pickers have rejected. They look like the knuckles of Doctor Reefy's hands. One nibbles at them and they are delicious. Into a little round place at the side of the apple has been gathered all of its sweetness. One runs from tree to tree over the frosted ground picking the gnarled, twisted apples and filling his pockets with them. Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples. The girl and Doctor Reefy began their courtship on a summer afternoon. He was forty-five then and already he had begun the practice of filling his pockets with the scraps of paper that became hard balls and were thrown away. The habit had been formed as he sat in his buggy behind the jaded white horse and went slowly along country roads. On the papers were written thoughts, ends of thoughts, beginnings of thoughts.

-Paper Pills, Winesburg, Ohio -Almost like keeping a commonplace book in writing- when you had an idea, scribble it down and put it in your pocket and people wanted these "common place books" published since they had famous authors who wrote ideas fro scenes or books

He was an old man with a white beard and huge nose and hands. Long before the time during which we will know him, he was a doctor and drove a jaded white horse from house to house through the streets of Winesburg. Later he married a girl who had money. She had been left a large fertile farm when her father died. The girl was quiet, tall, and dark, and to many people she seemed very beautiful. Everyone in Winesburg wondered why she married the doctor. Within a year after the marriage she died. The knuckles of the doctor's hands were extraordinarily large. When the hands were closed they looked like clusters of unpainted wooden balls as large as walnuts fastened together by steel rods. He smoked a cob pipe and after his wife's death sat all day in his empty office close by a window that was covered with cobwebs. He never opened the window. Once on a hot day in August he tried but found it stuck fast and after that he forgot all about it.

-Paper Pills, Winesburg, Ohio -Hands are important fro doctors and here is a doctor with huge hands and work with hands that are so large that it is hard to examine someone- loaded paragraph to understand this persons unique grotesqueness- description of hands is something that emphasizes machine as the new agriculture- old way of life and moving to a new mechanized world that creates anxiety -His wife died and fro the same reason these two "click" he cannot get over it and they are graphic scenes of suffering and carelessness to the "gnarled and twisted" apples and argues that these are the sweetest

There is a time in the life of every boy when he for the first time takes the backward view of life. Perhaps that is the moment when he crosses the line into manhood. The boy is walking through the street of his town. He is thinking of the future and of the figure he will cut in the world. Ambitions and regrets awake within him. Suddenly something happens; he stops under a tree and waits as for a voice calling his name. Ghosts of old things creep into his consciousness; the voices outside of himself whisper a message concerning the limitations of life. From being quite sure of himself and his future he becomes not at all sure. If he be an imaginative boy a door is tom open and for the first time he looks out upon the world, seeing, as though they marched in procession before him, the countless figures of men who before his time have come out of nothingness into the world, lived their lives and again disappeared into nothingness. The sadness of sophistication has come to the boy. With a little gasp he sees himself as merely a leaf blown by the wind through the streets of his village. He knows that in spite of all the stout talk of his fellows he must live and die in uncertainty, a thing blown by the winds, a thing destined like corn to wilt in the sun. He shivers and looks eagerly about. The eighteen years he has lived seem but a moment, a breathing space in the long march of humanity. Already he hears death calling. With all his heart he wants to come close to some other human, touch someone with his hands, be touched by the hand of another. If he prefers that the other be a woman, that is because he believes that a woman will be gentle, that she will understand. He wants, most of all, understanding.

-Sophistication, Winesburg, Ohio -George needs to go to work somewhere away from the childhood experiences- he leaves from a train and is symbolic of saying goodbye to childhood as George travels away. The train is symbolic of people telling him "so long and farewell"- brings you back to the book of the Grotesque as the writer has a dream of giving birth to something new as the last line ends in a painting

: In the darkness under the roof of the grand-stand, George Willard sat beside Helen White and felt very keenly his own insignificance in the scheme of existence. Now that he had come out of town where the presence of the people stirring about, busy with a multitude of affairs, had been so irritating, the irritation was all gone. The presence of Helen renewed and refreshed him. It was as though her woman's hand was assisting him to make some minute readjustment of the machinery of his life. He began to think of the people in the town where he had always lived with something like reverence. He had reverence for Helen. He wanted to love and to be loved by her, but he did not want at the moment to be confused by her womanhood. In the darkness he took hold of her hand and when she crept close put a hand on her shoulder. A wind began to blow and he shivered. With all his strength he tried to hold and to understand the mood that had come upon him. In that high place in the darkness the two oddly sensitive human atoms held each other tightly and waited. In the mind of each was the same thought. "I have come to this lonely place and here is this other," was the substance of the thing felt.

-Sophistication, Winesburg, Ohio -Loaded moment and looks back on his whole life at this instance as we begin initiation, transformation and change, then restrain- we have microcosms of these ideas and movements that are all strong when you are a child and has limited possibility as when entering adulthood, people have more changes to adulthood- all of life can be like this as there are pivotal moments you remember and all rituals that help you market as statements are read aloud and is a tiny moment in the grand scheme of things- George and Kate do not want their encounter to be sexual since it will rob it of its significant meanings -Cant sustain pitch or recognition and respect that they have fro one another- the language is showing that there is something intensive from the experience. What did they get from moment- reminds you of introduction as time is the spark of connection from the touching of human hands is desired

There is something memorable in the experience to be had by going into a fair ground that stands at the edge of a Middle Western town on a night after the annual fair has been held. The sensation is one never to be forgotten. On all sides are ghosts, not of the dead, but of living people. Here, during the day just passed, have come the people pouring in from the town and the country around. Farmers with their wives and children and all the people from the hundreds of little frame houses have gathered within these board walls. Young girls have laughed and men with beards have talked of the affairs of their lives. The place has been filled to overflowing with life. It has itched and squirmed with life and now it is night and the life has all gone away. The silence is almost terrifying. One conceals oneself standing silently beside the trunk of a tree and what there is of a reflective tendency in his nature is intensified. One shudders at the thought of the meaninglessness of life while at the same instant, and if the people of the town are his people, one loves life so intensely that tears come into the eyes.

-Sophistication, Winesburg, Ohio -Pageantry of life is gone as it is the day after the fair and paints an image of the ghostly town that comes to life

Doctor Diver had seen around the edges of the war by that time: he was an Oxford Rhodes Scholar from Connecticut in 1914. He returned home for a final year at Johns Hopkins, and 124 took his degree. In 1916 he managed to get to Vienna under the impression that, if he did not make haste, the great Freud would eventually succumb to an aeroplane bomb. Even then Vienna was old with death but Dick managed to get enough coal and oil to sit in his room in the Damenstiff Strasse and write the pamphlets that he later destroyed, but that, rewritten, were the backbone of the book he published in Zurich in 1920. Most of us have a favorite, a heroic period, in our lives and that was Dick Diver's. For one thing he had no idea that he was charming, that the affection he gave and inspired was anything unusual among healthy people. In his last year at New Haven some one referred to him as "lucky Dick"—the name lingered in his head. "Lucky Dick, you big stiff," he would whisper to himself, walking around the last sticks of flame in his room. "You hit it, my boy. Nobody knew it was there before you came along." At the beginning of 1917, when it was becoming difficult to find coal, Dick burned for fuel almost a hundred textbooks that he had accumulated; but only, as he laid each one on the fire, with an assurance chuckling inside him that he was himself a digest of what was within the book, that he could brief five years from now, if it deserved to be briefed. This went on at any odd hour, if necessary, with a floor rug over his shoulders, with the fine quiet of the scholar which is nearest of all things to heavenly peace—but which, as will presently be told, had to end. For its temporary continuance he thanked his body that had done the flying rings at New Haven, and now swam in the winter Danube. With Elkins, second secretary at the Embassy, he shared an apartment, and there were two nice girl visitors—which was that and not too much of it, nor too much of the Embassy either. His contact with Ed Elkins aroused in him a first faint doubt as to the quality of his mental processes; he could not feel that they were profoundly different from the thinking of Elkins—Elkins, who would name you all the quarterbacks in New Haven for thirty years.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Burns his textbooks as he knows that his academics is his identity but Nicole becomes the center of his life -Had a love fro Nicole and knew he had to be a doctor but could not help loving her -He is doing really well at this moment in his life- in contrast to other times when we see him as a manipulator- all of this correlates to a heroic period in our lives that allows us to "ride high" -Important to go to Europe to see Freud since at this moment, Freud is a demigod -Wrote his pamphlet to get Freud's attention as his actions are associated with "repression"- desires that come out in extrodinary ways but it can damage your psychology from repressing these desires

He was rendered so uncertain by the events of the last forty-eight hours that he was not even sure of what he wanted to do; he paid off the taxi at the Muette and walked in the direction of the studio, crossing to the opposite side of the street before he came to the building. Dignified in his fine clothes, with their fine accessories, he was yet swayed and driven as an animal. Dignity could come only with an overthrowing of his past, of the effort of the last six years. He went briskly around the block with the fatuousness of one of Tarkington's adolescents, hurrying at the blind places lest he miss Rosemary's coming out of the studio. It was a melancholy neighborhood. Next door to the place he saw a sign: '1000 chemises.' The shirts filled the window, piled, cravated, stuffed, or draped with shoddy grace on the showcase floor: '1000 chemises'—count them! On either side he read: 'Papeterie,' 'Pâtisserie,' 'Solde,' 'Réclame'—and Constance Talmadge in 'Déjeuner de Soleil,' and farther away there were more sombre announcements: 'Vêtements Ecclésiastiques,' 'Déclaration de Décès' and 'Pompes Funèbres.' Life and death. He knew that what he was now doing marked a turning point in his life—it was out of line with everything that had preceded it—even out of line with what effect he might hope to produce upon Rosemary. Rosemary saw him always as a model of correctness—his presence walking around this block was an intrusion. But Dick's necessity of behaving as he did was a projection of some submerged reality: he was compelled to walk there, or stand there, his shirtsleeve fitting his wrist and his coat sleeve encasing his shirtsleeve like a sleeve valve, his collar molded plastically to his neck, his red hair cut exactly, his hand holding his small briefcase like a dandy—just as another man once found it necessary to stand in front of a church in Ferrara, in sackcloth and ashes. Dick was paying some tribute to things unforgotten, unshriven, unexpurgated

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Clothing can only go so far to disguise the reality that we are animals that can't control our desires -unshriven= without sin and it means he has no sin

He saw that no provision had been made for him, or for Nicole, in Mrs. Speers' plans—and he saw that her amorality sprang from the conditions of her own withdrawal. It was her right, the pension on which her own emotions had retired. Women are necessarily capable of almost anything in their struggle for survival and can scarcely be convicted of such man-made crimes as "cruelty." So long as the shuffle of love and pain went on within proper walls Mrs. Speers could view it with as much detachment and humor as a eunuch. She had not even allowed for the possibility of Rosemary's being damaged—or was she certain that she couldn't be?

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Dick is in an uncomfortable space here and the passage is a confession- relates back to when Rosemary passed entrance exams and mother tells her to be in control and it is important since she gains strength from this -Fitzgerald explores it in an experimental way but hard to believe in fantasy of escapism if this is how it starts

"We can't go on like this," Nicole suggested. "Or can we?--what do you think?" Startled that for the moment Dick did not deny it, she continued, "Some of the time I think it's my fault--I've ruined you." "So I'm ruined, am I?" he inquired pleasantly. "I didn't mean that. But you used to want to create things--now you seem to want to smash them up."

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Driving force fro Dick when he is younger is to develop new ideas fro himself and wants to go to Europe to meet the right people of the right clinic- clinics showed diminishing episodes in people but always a question of how long this will last and this drives Nicole and Dick

But I was gone again by that time—trains and beaches they were all one. That was why he took me travelling but after my second child, my little girl, Topsy, was born everything got dark again.... If I could get word to my husband who has seen fit to desert me here, to leave me in the hands of incompetents. You tell me my baby is black—that's farcical, that's very cheap. We went to Africa merely to see Timgad, since my principal interest in life is archeology. I am tired of knowing nothing and being reminded of it all the time.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Each lines echo a different thread as she loses connection fro perception and reality- in mid-west, people still use the phrase "topsy turvey" to mean someone who has had too much to drink -"turvey" is used as a physical character in uncle Tom's cabin that caused turmoil and was a strange name to give a little girl

Dick tried to think what to do. The dualism in his views of her—that of the husband, that of the psychiatrist—was increasingly paralyzing his faculties. In these six years she had several times carried him over the line with her, disarming him by exciting emotional pity or by a flow of wit, fantastic and disassociated, so that only after the episode did he realize with the consciousness of his own relaxation from tension, that she had succeeded in getting a point against his better judgment. A discussion with Topsy about the guignol—as to whether the Punch was the same Punch they had seen last year in Cannes—having been settled, the family walked along again between the booths under the open sky. The women's bonnets, perching over velvet vests, the bright, spreading skirts of many cantons, seemed demure against the blue and orange paint of the wagons and displays. There was the sound of a whining, tinkling hootchy-kootchy show.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Engage in shifts to gain control as she learns to be a manipulator even though Dick was sure he could have control of the situation

Half an hour later Dick started up to the administration building. He was thirty-eight—still declining a beard he yet had a more medical aura about him than he had worn upon the Riviera. For eighteen months now he had lived at the clinic—certainly one of the best-appointed in Europe. Like Dohmler's it was of the modern type—no longer a single dark and sinister building but a small, scattered, yet deceitfully integrated village—Dick and Nicole had added much in the domain of taste, so that the plant was a thing of beauty, visited by every psychologist passing through Zurich. With the addition of a caddy house it might very well have been a country club. The Eglantine and the Beeches, houses for those sunk into eternal darkness, were screened by little copses from the main building, camouflaged strong-points. Behind was a large truck farm, worked partly by the patients. The workshops for ergotherapy were three, placed under a single roof and there Doctor Diver began his morning's inspection. The carpentry shop, full of sunlight, exuded the sweetness of sawdust, of a lost age of wood; always half a dozen men were there, hammering, planing, buzzing—silent men, who lifted solemn eyes from their work as he passed through. Himself a good carpenter, he discussed with them the efficiency of some tools for a moment in a quiet, personal, interested voice. Adjoining was the bookbindery, adapted to the most mobile of patients who were not always, however, those who had the greatest chance for recovery. The last chamber was devoted to beadwork, weaving and work in brass. The faces of the patients here wore the expression of one who had just sighed profoundly, dismissing something insoluble—but their sighs only marked the beginning of another ceaseless round of ratiocination, not in a line as with normal people but in the same circle. Round, round, and round. Around forever. But the bright colors of the stuffs they worked with gave strangers a momentary illusion that all was well, as in a kindergarten. These patients brightened as Doctor Diver came in. Most of them liked him better than they liked Doctor Gregorovius. Those who had once lived in the great world invariably liked him better. There were a few who thought he neglected them, or that he was not simple, or that he posed. Their responses were not dissimilar to those that Dick evoked in non-professional life, but here they were warped and distorted.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Ergo-therapy children have been living in the clinic fro months -Exterior looks like the people who live there are elitist, but the people are in stages of mental illness- gets better when you make something with your hands

A wave of agony went over him. It was awful that such a fine tower should not be erected, only suspended, suspended from him. Up to a point that was right: men were for that, beam and idea, girder and logarithm; but somehow Dick and Nicole had become one and equal, not opposite and complementary; she was Dick too, the drought in the marrow of his bones. He could not watch her disintegrations without participating in them. His intuition rilled out of him as tenderness and compassion—he could only take the characteristically modern course, to interpose—he would get a nurse from Zurich, to take her over to-night.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -He will never come back whole from this experience ever again

"After her mother died when she was little she used to come into my bed every morning, sometimes she'd sleep in my bed. I was sorry for the little thing. Oh, after that, whenever we went places in an automobile or a train we used to hold hands. She used to sing to me. We used to say, 'Now let's not pay any 140 attention to anybody else this afternoon—let's just have each other—for this morning you're mine.'" A broken sarcasm came into his voice. "People used to say what a wonderful father and daughter we were—they used to wipe their eyes. We were just like lovers—and then all at once we were lovers—and ten minutes after it happened I could have shot myself—except I guess I'm such a degenerate I didn't have the nerve to do it." "Then what?" said Doctor Dohmler, thinking again of Chicago and of a mild pale gentleman with a pince-nez who had looked him over in Zurich thirty years before. "Did this thing go on?" "Oh, no! She almost—she seemed to freeze up right away. She'd just say, 'Never mind, never mind, Daddy. It doesn't matter. Never mind.'" "There were no consequences?" "No." He gave one short convulsive sob and blew his nose several times. "Except now there're plenty of consequences."

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -In a time when doctor-patient relationship and confidentiality was crucial -Father has a large role in this and views himself as something to blame since the mom died and the daughter falls in love with the father- she becomes afraid of men as her father molested her and becomes a repressed mental desire

The Divers flocked from the train into the early gathered twilight of the valley. The village people watched the debarkation with an awe akin to that which followed the Italian pilgrimages of Lord Byron a century before. Their hostess was the Contessa di Minghetti, lately Mary North. The journey that had begun in a room over the shop of a paperhanger in Newark had ended in an extraordinary marriage. "Conte di Minghetti" was merely a papal title--the wealth of Mary's husband flowed from his being ruler-owner of manganese deposits in southwestern Asia. He was not quite light enough to travel in a pullman south of Mason-Dixon; he was of the Kyble-Berber-Sabaean-Hindu strain that belts across north Africa and Asia, more sympathetic to the European than the mongrel faces of the ports.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Mary North is now the center of the social life and the story and it is a change in status that affects the world order but not everyone can handle it well

Rosemary had been brought up with the idea of work. Mrs. Speers had spent the slim leavings of the men who had widowed her on her daughter's education, and when she blossomed out at sixteen with that extraordinary hair, rushed her to Aix-les-Bains and marched her unannounced into the suite of an American producer who was recuperating there. When the producer went to New York they went too. Thus Rosemary had passed her entrance examinations. With the ensuing success and the promise of comparative stability that followed, Mrs. Speers had felt free to tacitly imply tonight: 'You were brought up to work—not especially to marry. Now you've found your first nut to crack and it's a good nut—go ahead and put whatever happens down to experience. Wound yourself or him— whatever happens it can't spoil you because economically you're a boy, not a girl.'

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Mom tells her that she is in a man's world right now and head to work twice as hard to make money- pass entrance exams sounds like she is going in to a school- sexual exploitation by the mother and the producer likes her -Mother thinks that she is attractive to be a film star but she acts like a pimp- goes on to an entrance exam and if a producer tells her she will be a star, she will be a star -Mother tells her later in the novel that she has not had a relationship and should since she can get wounded or he can wound you, but she needs a relationship under her belt

"That was absolutely normal," Dick laughed. "I'd call it a good sign. They were showing off for each other." "But how can I tell? Before I knew it, almost in front of my eyes, she had her hair cut off, in Zurich, because of a picture in 'Vanity Fair.'" "That's all right. She's a schizoid—a permanent eccentric. You can't change that." "What is it?" "Just what I said—an eccentric." "Well, how can any one tell what's eccentric and what's crazy?" "Nothing is going to be crazy—Nicole is all fresh and happy, you needn't be afraid." Baby shifted her knees about—she was a compendium of all the discontented women who had loved Byron a hundred years before, yet, in spite of the tragic affair with the guards' officer there was something wooden and onanistic about her.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Nicole knows about the diagnosis and Dick laughs since the problem is not too important -Excentricity is normal in this time but with a medical diagnosis, he is being dismissive but does not want Baby asking too many questions- Miss Warren gives him an offer fro him to run a clinic in Chicago and he can run it but it is a way of controlling him as he has an umbrella under him of her cash -self absorbed desire

A little later, riding toward Nice, she thought: So I have white crook's eyes, have I? Very well then, better a sane crook than a mad puritan. His assertion seemed to absolve her from all blame or responsibility and she had a thrill of delight in thinking of herself in a new way. New vistas appeared ahead, peopled with the faces of many men, none of whom she need obey or even love. She drew in her breath, hunched her shoulders with a wriggle and turned to Tommy.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Puritan repression is the idea to be stoic and keep her true self repressed as she acknowledges that her family comes from illegal crime -Tommy seems to like her more as she is more open to the person she is- A-moral universe to be diffused of moral responsibility as the post war era lend people to discover that morals that they were raised to believe are not true

P. 183: For those whose compasses were not depolarized there seemed many odd things in these houses. Doctor Diver was often amused in the Eglantine, the men's building—here there was a strange little exhibitionist who thought that if he could walk unclothed and unmolested from the Êtoile to the Place de la Concorde he would solve many things—and, perhaps, Dick thought, he was quite right. His most interesting case was in the main building. The patient was a woman of thirty who had been in the clinic six months; she was an American painter who had lived long in Paris. They had no very satisfactory history of her. A cousin had happened upon her all mad and gone and after an unsatisfactory interlude at one of the whoopee cures that fringed the city, dedicated largely to tourist victims of drug and drink, he had managed to get her to Switzerland. On her admittance she had been exceptionally pretty—now she was a living agonizing sore. All blood tests had failed to give a positive reaction and the trouble was unsatisfactorily catalogued as nervous eczema. For two months she had lain under it, as imprisoned as in the Iron Maiden. She was coherent, even brilliant, within the limits of her special hallucinations. P.184: "I'm sharing the fate of the women of my time who challenged men in battle"

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Reminiscent of Gertrude Stein's novel but she never had a mental breakdown

"Quelle enfanterie!" Tommy murmured as the next verse began, hinting at the jumpy lady's further predilections. "On dirait qu'il récite Racine!"

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Speaks French and reflects on his belief that the has found medieval literature. Does this to conduct himself well in this area but most people did- people only learned English from American servicemen -Tommy and Nicole both have American names but can speak French

While he did not answer she began to feel the old hypnotism of his intelligence, sometimes exercised without power but always with substrata of truth under truth which she could not break or even crack. Again she struggled with it, fighting him with her small, fine eyes, with the plush arrogance of a top dog, with her nascent transference to another man, with the accumulated resentment of years; she fought him with her money and her faith that her sister disliked him and was behind her now; with the thought of the new enemies he was making with his bitterness, with her quick guile against his wine-ing and dine-ing slowness, her health and beauty against his physical deterioration, her unscrupulousness against his moralities--for this inner battle she used even her weaknesses--fighting bravely and courageously with the old cans and crockery and bottles, empty receptacles of her expiated sins, outrages, mistakes. And suddenly, in the space of two minutes she achieved her victory and justified herself to herself without lie or subterfuge, cut the cord forever. Then she walked, weak in the legs, and sobbing coolly, toward the household that was hers at last.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Survival of the fittest as this passage teaches people about role reversal. Driver has done everything to save Nicole but his efforts form against him and she learns how to have strength from him. This follows Fitzgerald as he becomes a back writer in Hollywood when he dies after a heart attack -He took Zelda to places all over Europe to get help fro her and this was exhausting from this. In the novel, Nicole sees herself as fixed with no more help needed

In Zurich in September Doctor Diver had tea with Baby Warren. "I think it's ill advised," she said, "I'm not sure I truly understand your motives." "Don't let's be unpleasant." "After all I'm Nicole's sister." "That doesn't give you the right to be unpleasant." It irritated Dick that he knew so much that he could not tell her. "Nicole's rich, but that doesn't make me an adventurer." "That's just it," complained Baby stubbornly. "Nicole's rich." "Just how much money has she got?" he asked. She started; and with a silent laugh he continued, "You see how silly this is? I'd rather talk to some man in your family—" "Everything's been left to me," she persisted. "It isn't we think you're an adventurer. We don't know who you are." "I'm a doctor of medicine," he said. "My father is a clergyman, now retired. We lived in Buffalo and my past is open to investigation. I went to New Haven; afterward I was a Rhodes scholar. My great-grandfather was Governor of North Carolina and I'm a direct descendant of Mad Anthony Wayne." "Who was Mad Anthony Wayne?" Baby asked suspiciously. "Mad Anthony Wayne?" "I think there's enough madness in this affair." He shook his head hopelessly, just as Nicole came out on the hotel terrace and looked around for them. "He was too mad to leave as much money as Marshall Field," he said. "That's all very well—"

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -The general that they reference had bad behaviors during the revolution and people thought he was insane fro doing so

For what might occur thereafter she had no anxiety--she suspected that that would be the lifting of a burden, an unblinding of eyes. Nicole had been designed for change, for flight, with money as fins and wings. The new state of things would be no more than if a racing chassis, concealed for years under the body of a family limousine, should be stripped to its original self. Nicole could feel the fresh breeze already--the wrench it was she feared, and the dark manner of its coming.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -Whatever happens next, she is not sure what will happen, but feels like a burden will be lifted -Money and speed are important at this time and material objects become a symbol of family opulence. It was a time when people performed stunts to make themselves feel like a demigod

They were both restless in the night. In a day or two Dick would try to banish the ghost of Rosemary before it became walled up with them, but for the moment he had no force to do it. Sometimes it is harder to deprive oneself of a pain than of a pleasure and the memory so possessed him that for the moment there was nothing to do but to pretend. This was more difficult because he was currently annoyed with Nicole, who, after all these years, should recognize symptoms of strain in herself and guard against them. Twice within a fortnight she had broken up: there had been the night of the dinner at Tarmes when he had found her in her bedroom dissolved in crazy laughter telling Mrs. McKisco she could not go in the bathroom because the key was thrown down the well. Mrs. McKisco was astonished and resentful, baffled and yet in a way comprehending. Dick had not been particularly alarmed then, for afterward Nicole was repentant. She called at Gausse's Hotel but the McKiscos were gone. The collapse in Paris was another matter, adding significance to the first one. It prophesied possibly a new cycle, a new pousse of the malady. Having gone through unprofessional agonies during her long relapse following Topsy's birth, he had, perforce, hardened himself about her, making a cleavage between Nicole sick and Nicole well. This made it difficult now to distinguish between his self-protective professional detachment and some new coldness in his heart. As an indifference cherished, or left to atrophy, becomes an emptiness, to this extent he had learned to become empty of Nicole, serving her against his will with negations and emotional neglect. One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pinprick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or of the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it.

-Tender is the Night, Fitzgerald -When she starts to go un-hinged, she should stop herself- reveals that what McKisco saw was a breakdown from Nicole- Nicole and Dick are seen as the beautiful people that everyone wants to be around but Rosemary shows up and sees this psychotic breakdown -People try to cover things up and hide the truth- classic Freudian psychology of repressed memories that come out eventually, especially fro people suffering from post-partum depression

The writer, in fact, led him to the subject. The carpenter had once been a prisoner in Andersonville prison and had a brother. The brother had died of starvation, and whenever the carpenter got upon that subject he cried. He, like the old writer, had a white mustache, and when he cried he puckered up his lips and the mustache bobbed up and down. The weeping old man with the cigar in his mouth was ludicrous

-The Book of the Grotesque, Winesburg Ohio -Brother died of starvation and it is ludicrous- something very personal as he watched his brother starve to death and the movement of the mustache is somewhat comical but at the same time ajar with our sensibilities

The grotesques were not all horrible. Some were amusing, some almost beautiful, and one, a woman all drawn out of shape, hurt the old man by her grotesqueness. When she passed he made a noise like a small dog whimpering. Had you come into the room you might have supposed the old man had unpleasant dreams or perhaps indigestion. For an hour the procession of grotesques passed before the eyes of the old man, and then, although it was a painful thing to do, he crept out of bed and began to write. Some one of the grotesques had made a deep impression on his mind and he wanted to describe it. At his desk the writer worked for an hour. In the end he wrote a book which he called "The Book of the Grotesque." It was never published, but I saw it once and it made an indelible impression on my mind. The book had one central thought that is very strange and has always remained with me. By remembering it I have been able to understand many people and things that I was never able to understand before. The thought was involved but a simple statement of it would be something like this: That in the beginning when the world was young there were a great many thoughts but no such thing as a truth. Man made the truths himself and each truth was a composite of a great many vague thoughts. All about in the world were the truths and they were all beautiful. The old man had listed hundreds of the truths in his book. I will not try to tell you of all of them. There was the truth of virginity and the truth of passion, the truth of wealth and of poverty, of thrift and of profligacy, of carelessness and abandon. Hundreds and hundreds were the truths and they were all beautiful.

-The Book of the Grotesque, Winesburg Ohio -Build to a complex finale but says it is absurd to have a sense of desire. Grotesque is a disgusting vision- use of the word "grotesque" and idea of truths turning in to falsehoods since you unconsciously grab on to something and over indulge yourself to develop a "self-destruction or obsession" with this context, this intensity goes beyond truth to the point where you are obsessed and obsession can destroy you- this happened to individuals trying to find the American dream as they try to look back and try to destroy the truth so it s now a falsehood. These people are all grotesque since they embrace a truth as the truth he embraced became a falsehood

I suppose he'd had the name ready for a long time, even then. His parents were shiftless and unsuccessful farm people--his imagination had never really accepted them as his parents at all. The truth was that Jay Gatsby, of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God--a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that--and he must be about His Father's Business, the service of a vast, vulgar and meretricious beauty. So he invented just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen-year-old boy would be likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end. For over a year he had been beating his way along the south shore of Lake Superior as a clam digger and a salmon fisher or in any other capacity that brought him food and bed. His brown, hardening body lived naturally through the half fierce, half lazy work of the bracing days. He knew women early and since they spoiled him he became contemptuous of them, of young virgins because they were ignorant, of the others because they were hysterical about things which in his overwhelming self-absorption he took for granted.

-The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald -Allegory of Jesus as he hangs out in Jerusalem during passover and he is in the temple teaching the pharices about his fathers business- G is dead as it is a different types of business, shady illegal ways to make money -The word "meriticous" means it is attractive and compelling on the exterior but internally has no value or integrity- everything is different beneath the surface -Platonic conception of self- don't see the real version of reality as all we see is the world of forms

. . . One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They stopped here and turned toward each other. Now it was a cool night with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes of the year. The quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the darkness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalk really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees--he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder. His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

-The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald -Aludes to the autumn equinox, as something extraordinary happens and a has a mystical quality to it- fairy tales and myths are archetypes built in to this imagery -it discloses his first kiss with Daisy that takes on a mythical quality but he would compare it to the founding of Rome- in the end, we have a feeling of momentum that is slight and purposeful -"Important milk of wonder" is an allegory to Romulus and Remus- creation of something impossible but with the way the passage is written, it works

"She didn't like it," he insisted. "She didn't have a good time." He was silent and I guessed at his unutterable depression. "I feel far away from her," he said. "It's hard to make her understand." "You mean about the dance?" "The dance?" He dismissed all the dances he had given with a snap of his fingers. "Old sport, the dance is unimportant." He wanted nothing less of Daisy than that she should go to Tom and say: "I never loved you." After she had obliterated three years with that sentence they could decide upon the more practical measures to be taken. One of them was that, after she was free, they were to go back to Louisville and be married from her house--just as if it were five years ago. "And she doesn't understand," he said. "She used to be able to understand. We'd sit for hours----" He broke off and began to walk up and down a desolate path of fruit rinds and discarded favors and crushed flowers. "I wouldn't ask too much of her," I ventured. "You can't repeat the past." "Can't repeat the past?" he cried incredulously. "Why of course you can!" He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand. "I'm going to fix everything just the way it was before," he said, nodding determinedly. "She'll see."

-The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald -Gatsby tells him that Daisy did not like the party as Gatsby has an old vision from 5-years earlier- Gatsby is a hopeless romantic- trying to live a past experience that happened when he was young that transcends the powerful moment and keep it extraordinary -He has a powerful imagination and has more than enough power to do this

"Your wife doesn't love you," said Gatsby. "She's never loved you. She loves me." "You must be crazy!" exclaimed Tom automatically. Gatsby sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement. "She never loved you, do you hear?" he cried. "She only married you because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved any one except me!" At this point Jordan and I tried to go but Tom and Gatsby insisted with of them had anything to conceal and it would be a privilege to partake vicariously of their emotions. "Sit down Daisy." Tom's voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal note. "What's been going on? I want to hear all about it." "I told you what's been going on," said Gatsby. "Going on for five years--and you didn't know." Tom turned to Daisy sharply. "You've been seeing this fellow for five years?" "Not seeing," said Gatsby. "No, we couldn't meet. But both of us loved each other all that time, old sport, and you didn't know. I used to laugh sometimes--"but there was no laughter in his eyes, "to think that you didn't know." "Oh--that's all." Tom tapped his thick fingers together like a clergyman and leaned back in his chair. "You're crazy!" he exploded. "I can't speak about what happened five years ago, because I didn't know Daisy then--and I'll be damned if I see how you got within a mile of her unless you brought the groceries to the back door. But all the rest of that's a ********ed lie. Daisy loved me when she married me and she loves me now." "No," said Gatsby, shaking his head. "She does, though. The trouble is that sometimes she gets foolish ideas in her head and doesn't know what she's doing." He nodded sagely. "And what's more, I love Daisy too. Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in my heart I love her all the time." "You're revolting," said Daisy. She turned to me, and her voice, dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn: "Do you know why we left Chicago? I'm surprised that they didn't treat you to the story of that little spree." Gatsby walked over and stood beside her. "Daisy, that's all over now," he said earnestly. "It doesn't matter any more. Just tell him the truth--that you never loved him--and it's all wiped out forever." She looked at him blindly. "Why,--how could I love him--possibly?" "You never loved him." She hesitated. Her eyes fell on Jordan and me with a sort of appeal, as though she realized at last what she was doing--and as though she had never, all along, intended doing anything at all. But it was done now. It was too late. "I never loved him," she said, with perceptible reluctance. "Not at Kapiolani?" demanded Tom suddenly. "No." From the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating chords were drifting up on hot waves of air. "Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your shoes dry?" There was a husky tenderness in his tone. ". . . Daisy?" "Please don't." Her voice was cold, but the rancour was gone from it. She looked at Gatsby. "There, Jay," she said--but her hand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet. "Oh, you want too much!" she cried to Gatsby. "I love you now--isn't that enough? I can't help what's past." She began to sob helplessly. "I did love him once--but I loved you too." Gatsby's eyes opened and closed. "You loved me TOO?" he repeated. "Even that's a lie," said Tom savagely. "She didn't know you were alive. Why,--there're things between Daisy and me that you'll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget." The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby. "I want to speak to Daisy alone," he insisted. "She's all excited now----" "Even alone I can't say I never loved Tom," she admitted in a pitiful voice. "It wouldn't be true." "Of course it wouldn't," agreed Tom. She turned to her husband. "As if it mattered to you," she said. "Of course it matters. I'm going to take better care of you from now on." "You don't understand," said Gatsby, with a touch of panic. "You're not going to take care of her any more." "I'm not?" Tom opened his eyes wide and laughed. He could afford to control himself now. "Why's that?" "Daisy's leaving you." "Nonsense." "I am, though," she said with a visible effort. "She's not leaving me!" Tom's words suddenly leaned down over Gatsby. "Certainly not for a common swindler who'd have to steal the ring he put on her finger." "I won't stand this!" cried Daisy. "Oh, please let's get out." "Who are you, anyhow?" broke out Tom. "You're one of that bunch that hangs around with Meyer Wolfshiem--that much I happen to know. I've made a little investigation into your affairs--and I'll carry it further tomorrow." "You can suit yourself about that, old sport." said Gatsby steadily. "I found out what your 'drug stores' were." He turned to us and spoke rapidly. "He and this Wolfshiem bought up a lot of side-street drug stores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the counter. That's one of his little stunts. I picked him for a bootlegger the first time I saw him and I wasn't far wrong."

-The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald -She is terrified of the moment and Tom knows the further they get in to the dialogue, the more he knows he will win- tortured Gatsby is going through this moment is one thing, but Nick is just getting exhausted from this dialogue -We fulfill ourselves in life by moving towards death -Tableua Viviant- in a play, you could isolate a piece of dialogue and it functions as its own form of art- base form of conspiracy of crying and deceit- reinforced later when Daisy and Tom eat fried chicken (a greasy food) during Gatsby's funeral

On the winter night when she walked through the deserted snow-covered streets, a crisis had come into the life of the school teacher. Although no one in Winesburg would have suspected it, her life had been very adventurous. It was still adventurous. Day by day as she worked in the schoolroom or walked in the streets, grief, hope, and desire fought within her. Behind a cold exterior the most extraordinary events transpired in her mind. The people of the town thought of her as a confirmed old maid and because she spoke sharply and went her own way thought her lacking in all the human feeling that did so much to make and mar their own lives. In reality she was the most eagerly passionate soul among them, and more than once, in the five years since she had come back from her travels to settle in Winesburg and become a school teacher, had been compelled to go out of the house and walk half through the night fighting out some battle raging within. Once on a night when it rained she had stayed out six hours and when she came home had a quarrel with Aunt Elizabeth Swift. "I am glad you're not a man," said the mother sharply. "More than once I've waited for your father to come home, not knowing what new mess he had got into. I've had my share of uncertainty and you cannot blame me if I do not want to see the worst side of him reproduced in you.

-The Teacher, Winesburg, Ohio -Passage is of particular importance fro Kate Swift as she sees a spark of genius in George and in this moment we realize she will take advantage of the fact that she is George's teacher to confess love but since they are both human beings (George is a late teen and capable of a sexual encounter) they come to a great divide- the human parts of her get mixed up in this scenario

Ray went into his own house and took an overcoat from a hook back of the door. It was torn about the pockets and the collar was shiny. His wife went into the bedroom and presently came out with a soiled cloth in one hand and three silver dollars in the other. Somewhere in the house a child wept bitterly and a dog that had been sleeping by the stove arose and yawned. Again the wife scolded. "The children will cry and cry. Why are you always puttering?" she asked. Ray went out of the house and climbed the fence into a field. It was just growing dark and the scene that lay before him was lovely. All the low hills were washed with color and even the little clusters of bushes in the corners of the fences were alive with beauty. The whole world seemed to Ray Pearson to have become alive with something just as he and Hal had suddenly become alive when they stood in the corn field stating into each other's eyes. The beauty of the country about Winesburg was too much for Ray on that fall evening. That is all there was to it. He could not stand it. Of a sudden he forgot all about being a quiet old farm hand and throwing off the torn overcoat began to run across the field. As he ran he shouted a protest against his life, against all life, against everything that makes life ugly. "There was no promise made," he cried into the empty spaces that lay about him. "I didn't promise my Minnie anything and Hal hasn't made any promise to Nell. I know he hasn't. She went into the woods with him because she wanted to go. What he wanted she wanted. Why should I pay? Why should Hal pay? Why should anyone pay? I don't want Hal to become old and worn out. I'll tell him. I won't let it go on. I'll catch Hal before he gets to town and I'll tell him.

-The Untold Lie, Winesburg, Ohio -Crying out and racing out in a cross is a major theme of these characters as there is a beauty in the way that they are described and it reflects Anderson's sudden flashes of intelligence

They were obviously ascending, and within a few minutes the car was crossing a high rise, where they caught a glimpse of a pale moon newly risen in the distance. The car stopped suddenly and several figures took shape out of the dark beside it—these were negroes also. Again the two young men were saluted in the same dimly recognisable dialect; then the negroes set to work and four immense cables dangling from overhead were attached with hooks to the hubs of the great jewelled wheels. At a resounding "Hey-yah!" John felt the car being lifted slowly from the ground—up and up—clear of the tallest rocks on both sides—then higher, until he could see a wavy, moonlit valley stretched out before him in sharp contrast to the quagmire of rocks that they had just left. Only on one side was there still rock—and then suddenly there was no rock beside them or anywhere around. It was apparent that they had surmounted some immense knife-blade of stone, projecting perpendicularly into the air. In a moment they were going down again, and finally with a soft bump they were landed upon the smooth earth.

Fitzgerald, Diamond as Big as the Ritz -The sunset is painful and dark- Christ said the apostles will be "fishers of man" and there is a small release in this passage