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F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby “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 God damned 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.”

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