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half way between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile,

Long Island Sound

  • the most domesticated body of salt water in the western hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound.

Tom And Myrtles Apartment

Buchanan's House

Nick's House

  • A cheerful red-and-white Georgian colonial Mansion, over-looking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran towards the front door for a quarter of a mile , jumping over the sundials and brick walks and burning gardens.

The apartment was on the top floor — a small living-room, a small dining-room, a small bedroom, and a bath. The living-room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for it, so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles.

My own house was an eyesore, but it was a small eyesore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires — all for eighty dollars a month.

East Egg

Gatsby's House

  • the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water
  • was a colossal affair by any standard — it was a factual imitation of some Hotel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool, and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. it was Gatsby’s mansion.

West Egg

  • I lived in west egg, the - well, the less fashionable of the two

Rail Road

The Wilson's Garage

T.J Eckleberg's billboard

The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had occurred to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind, and that sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead

The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic — their irises are one yard high. They look out of no face, but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose

Valley of Ashes

  • This is a valley of ashes — a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air.

GREAT GATSBY MAP

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