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He wanted to appear suddenly to her in novel and heroic colors. He wanted to stir her from that casualness she showed toward everything except herself.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
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Interpretation

What this quote means

The quote reflects a desire for deep emotional connection and the desire to stand out in someone's life.

In this quote, F. Scott Fitzgerald explores the yearning to break through a partner's indifference and to be seen as extraordinary, evoking a passionate response. The speaker wishes to disrupt the mundane perception of their relationship by presenting themselves in a vibrant, heroic light, highlighting a struggle for recognition and emotional engagement.

Themes

LoveRelationshipPassionEmotionsConnection

In practice

Example use cases

This quote can be used in a speech about the complexities of love and relationships.

More from F. Scott Fitzgerald

Don't be so anxious about it,' she laughed. 'I'm not used to being loved. I wouldn't know what to do; I never got the trick of it.' She looked down at him, shy and fatigued. 'So here we are. I told you years ago that I had the makings of Cinderella.' He took her hand; she drew it back instinctively and then replaced it in his. 'Beg your pardon. Not even used to being touched. But I'm not afraid of you, if you stay quiet and don't move suddenly.
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The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.
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It was about then [1920] that I wrote a line which certain people will not let me forget: "She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven."
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The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.
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But you can love more than just one person, can't you?
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A sudden gust of rain blew over them and then another - as if small liquid clouds were bouncing along the land. Lightning entered the sea far off and the air blew full of crackling thunder. The table cloths blew around the pillars. They blew and blew and blew. The flags twisted around the red chairs like live things, the banners were ragged, the corners of the table tore off through the burbling billowing ends of the cloths.
F. Scott FitzgeraldRead

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