As The Great Gatsby splashes back onto the silver screen, a resurgence of roaring twenties style is afoot. In homage to this renaissance, I headed out to our Oxnard farm with an eye towards the Art Deco style of the 1920's and cracked open the classic American novel again to revisit the tale of James Gatz, better known as Jay Gatsby, as told by narrator, Nick Carraway.
"He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced--or seemed to face--the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Ch. 3
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| Our Brassica, read more about it HERE |
"A phrase began to beat in my ears with a sort of heady excitement: 'There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired.'"
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Ch. 4
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| Tending the crops |
"they looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Ch. 5
"Can't repeat the past?... Why of course you can!"
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Ch. 6
"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."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Ch. 6
"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic 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."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Ch. 9
