First, he realized that the sea was blue and that there was an enormous quantity of it, and that it roared and roared-really all the banalities about the ocean that one could realize, but if any one had told him then that these things were banalities, he would have gaped in wonder.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the profound yet often overlooked beauty of nature and experience.
F. Scott Fitzgerald's quote suggests that sometimes, the most common aspects of life, like the vastness and beauty of the ocean, can provoke deep awe and wonder. It highlights how familiarity can sometimes mask the extraordinary nature of experiences, leading us to take the seemingly mundane for granted until we truly reflect on them.
In practice
In a speech about appreciating nature, one could reference this quote to emphasize the importance of seeing beauty in the ordinary.
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.
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.
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."
The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.
But you can love more than just one person, can't you?
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.
When I sleep I turn into a wolf. Bran turned his face away and looked back out into the night. Do wolves dreams?
Must not all things at the last be swallowed up in death?
A discussion should be a genuine attempt to explore a subject rather than a battle between competing egos.
Only the shallow know themselves.
The classical man's worst fear was inglorious death; the modern man's worst fear is just death
If slaughterhouses had glass walls the whole world would be vegetarian.
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