I spent my Saturday nights in New York because those gleaming，dazzling parties of his were with me so vividly that I could still hearthe music and the laughter, faint and incessant,from his garden，andthe cars going up and down his drive. One night I did hear a materialcar there, and saw its lights stop at his front steps. But I didn' tinvestigate. Probably it was some final guest who had been away at theends of the earth and didn't know that the party was over.
On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to thegrocer, I went over and looked at that huge incoherent failure of ahouse once more. On the white steps an obscene word，scrawled by someboy with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and Ierased it，drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone. Then I wandereddown to the beach and sprawled out on the sand.
Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardlyany lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across theSound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to meltaway until gradually I became aware of the old island here thatflowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes一a fresh,green breast of the newworld. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby'shouse, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of allhuman dreams;for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held hisbreath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aestheticcontemplation he neither understood nor desired，face to face for thelast time in history with something commensurate to his capacity forwonder.
And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought ofGatsby's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end ofDaisy' s dock .He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dreammust have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He didnot know that it was a/ready behind him, somewhere back in that vastobscurity beyond the city,where the dark fields of the republic rolledon under the night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that yearby year recedes before us. It eluded us then，but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther... And onefine morning...
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselesslyinto the past.