The Great Gatsby Chapter 3 Quotes

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 (Chapter 3).

Gatsby looked radiant. His tie was lavender, his shirt a riotous profusion of lavender and white, his suit the same shade of lavender (Chapter 3).

The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain (Chapter 3).

She was laughing uncontrollably, shaking and choking as if she had forgotten the dignity that had surrounded her all her life (Chapter 3).

I hadn’t seen this girl before, but she seemed to know all about me. A curious feeling came over me that I had known her before somewhere (Chapter 3).

Her face, above a spotted dress of dark blue crepe-de-chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty, but there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her (Chapter 3).

Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire (Chapter 3).

When I came opposite her house that morning her white roadster was beside the curb, and she was sitting in it with a lieutenant I had never seen before (Chapter 3).

Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily (Chapter 3).

He smiled, and his eyebrows went up a little. I’m pretty cynical about everything (Chapter 3).

The Great Gatsby Chapter 3 Quotes part 2

I didn’t want you to think I was just some nobody (Chapter 3).

My house looks well, doesn’t it? he demanded. See how the whole front of it catches the light (Chapter 3).

I’m with some people who expect to fly east, I think it’s a terrible mistake (Chapter 3).

We’ve met before, muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily, the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and set it back in place (Chapter 3).

I watched his face for a moment and, or a moment, I discerned faint signs of a struggle as though he had been a long time at peace with himself (Chapter 3).

Gatsby began leaving his elegant parties to drive his yellow Rolls-Royce into New York (Chapter 3).

They were sitting at either end of the couch looking at each other as if some question had been asked or was in the air, and every vestige of embarrassment was gone (Chapter 3).

She had drunk a quantity of champagne, and during the course of her song she had decided, ineptly, that everything was very, very sad (Chapter 3).

She was the first nice girl he had ever known. In various unrevealed capacities he had come in contact with such people, but always with indiscernible barbed wire between (Chapter 3).

I don’t think so, she said innocently. I’ve never seen such beautiful shirts before (Chapter 3).

They’re such beautiful shirts, she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds (Chapter 3).

We passed a barrier of dark trees, and then the facade of Fifty-Ninth Street, a block of delicate pale light, beamed down into the park (Chapter 3).

The orchestra leader varies his rhythm obligingly for her, and there is a burst of chatter as the erroneous news goes around that she is Gilda Gray’s understudy from the Follies (Chapter 3).

He signaled several times to his bevy of gossipy flappers, so that from the highball glass and the smile and the upward curl of his lip the air seemed to sparkle with some indefinable charisma (Chapter 3).

Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most keenly aware of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children and the very old (Chapter 3).

Gatsby’s chauffeur heard the shots (Chapter 3).

One of the men was talking with curious intensity to a young actress, and his wife, after attempting to laugh at the situation in a dignified and indifferent way, broke down entirely and resorted to flank attacks – at intervals she appeared suddenly at his side like an angry diamond, and hissed: You promised! (Chapter 3).

There was a pause – it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room (Chapter 3).

He smiled with a kind of derision at the crimson thrust of the Axiom, vanished into its depths again, and a new voice rose in conversation below (Chapter 3).

Never before in his life had he been to such a party (Chapter 3).

Now a confession: I love Gatsby for his tragic dream, his incorruptible dream, the simplicity of his unrealizable hopes (Chapter 3).

And one fine morning – so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past (Chapter 3).

There in the pool, dimly discernible, lay the broken fragments of the last night’s shattered glass (Chapter 3).

And the dance floor was to be a scene all radiant, with light streaming from its floor in a series of spreading circles (Chapter 3).

She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall (Chapter 3).

Somebody that was looking at you just the way she was looking at me (Chapter 3).

When I came opposite her house that morning her white roadster was beside the curb, and she was sitting in it with a lieutenant I had never seen before (Chapter 3).

The air rang with her vibrant, exquisite voice and with the tumultuous sea-sounds of the orchestra (Chapter 3).

Gatsby, with his carefully constructed identity, had struck me as fraudulent from the moment I saw him (Chapter 3).

Out of the corner of his eye, Gatsby saw Mr. Wolfshiem beckoning to him (Chapter 3).

Somebody told me they thought he killed a man once (Chapter 3).

Dressed up in white flannels I went over to his lawn a little after seven, and wandered around rather ill-at-ease among swirls and eddies of people I didn’t know (Chapter 3).

He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy (Chapter 3).

There is something gorgeous about Gatsby (Chapter 3).

One of the men was talking with curious intensity to a young actress, and his wife, after attempting to laugh at the situation in a dignified and indifferent way, broke down entirely and resorted to flank attacks – at intervals she appeared suddenly at his side like an angry diamond, and hissed: You promised! (Chapter 3).

He stood up, holding out his hand nervously and smiling. I looked at him doubtfully. Then I recognized his eyes (Chapter 3).

The feature was that we had an Indian bishop (Chapter 3).

He’s an Oxford man (Chapter 3).

He’s one of Wolfsheim’s connections. You know, an oil man’ (Chapter 3).

They’re a rotten crowd, I shouted across the lawn. You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together (Chapter 3).