...the whole tale would shortly be served up in a racy PASQUINADE...

...And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes - a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatzby 's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.

...Gatzby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther ... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Francis Scott Fitzgerald