Simple words cannot describe the uniqueness, the impression, the magnificent and profound ability of Fitzgerald's prose. Colors to describe emotion, hackneyed objects that symbolize a deeper connotation, repetitive imagery and ambiguous metaphors. Couldn't it just get better? 
 People falling in disillusion, dancing helplessly in the American Dream, the disparage between the outface luxury and the inner ash moral decaying. Digging the past, searching for what had lost, refuse to concede the failing of love. Money, new and old, prejudices and social classification. 
 Green light. Hope. You poor Jay Gatsby, with your "heightened sensitivity to the promises of life", your belief in the "orgastic future that recedes before [you]", such stupid, pure love that writhed under the heaviness of money. And before you die, did you still wish Daisy will call to you? 
 Gullible, cruel Daisy Buchanan. [I seriously want to punch her at the end], "wrecking things" and "leave back the mess". Rely on the stability of a guy, with your beauty, there come your options - to choose whoever can help you discard your messy life? 
 Every character is unique. They had their grandeur, and they had their defects. Brilliant mind, Fitzgerald, brilliant mind. 
 Sorry for the nonsense rambling heheheheh heheh heh eh....nvm