| gatsby: | hey i just met you |
| gatsby: | and this is crazy |
| gatsby: | but i'm going to spend most of my life and wealth in an attempt to pursue you for your stunning vapidness and the warped image of yourself created in my mind as a precursor to my eventual fall |
| gatsby: | so call me maybe |
“I wasn’t in love with her. And she didn’t love me. For me the question of love was irrelevant. What I sought was the sense of being tossed about by some raging, savage force, in the midst of which lay something absolutely crucial. I had no idea what that was. But I wanted to thrust my hand right inside her body and touch it, whatever it was.”
— Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via frenchtwist)
