Archive for the '30 Years Old' Category

Thirty Year Old – Nick Carraway




After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whisky in the towel.

‘Want any of this stuff? Jordon? … Nick?’

I didn’t answer.

‘Nick?’ He asked again.


‘Want any?’

‘No … I just remembered that today’s my birthday.’

I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing road of a new decade.

It was seven o’clock when we got into the coupe with him and started for Long Island. Tom talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamour on the sidewalk or the tumult of the elevated overhead. Human sympathy has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind. Thirty – the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.

So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

F.Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Published in: 30 Years Old | on May 9th, 2010 | 1 Comment »

Thirty Year Old – Sabina




Her feeling of fragility was so strong that she was startled by the appearance of a woman at her left, who walked in step with her. Sabina glanced at her profile and was comforted by her tallness, the assurance of her walk. She too was dressed in black, but walked without terror.

And then she vanished. The mirror had come to an end. Sabina had been confronted with herself, the life-size image walking beside the shrunk inner self, proving to her once more the disproportion between her feelings and external truth.

As many other times Sabina had experienced smallness, a sense of gigantic dangers, but she faced in the mirror a tall, strong, mature woman of thirty, equal to her surroundings. In the mirror was the image of what she had become and the image she gave to the world, but her secret inner self could be overwhelmed by a large truck wheel.

 Anais Nin, A Spy in the House of Love

Published in: 30 Years Old | on May 9th, 2010 | 2 Comments »