F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby “I was able to do the commissioner a favor once, and he
sends me a Christmas card every year.” Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the girders
making a constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of non-olfactory money. The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world. A dead man passed us in a hearse heaped with blooms,
followed by two carriages with drawn blinds, and by more cheerful carriages for friends. The friends looked out at us with the tragic eyes and short upper lips of southeastern Europe, and I was glad that the sight of Gatsby‟s splendid car was included in their sombre holiday. As we crossed Blackwell‟s Island a limousine passed us, driven by a white chauffeur, in which sat three modish negroes, two bucks and a girl. I laughed aloud as the yolks of their eyeballs rolled toward us in haughty rivalry. “Anything can happen now that we‟ve slid over this
bridge,” I thought; “anything at all. . . .” Even Gatsby could happen, without any particular wonder.