Will you still need me when I'm sixty-four?

'You're a rotten driver', I protested. 'Either you ought to be more careful, or you oughn't to drive at all'.

'I am careful'.

'No, you're not'.

'Well, other people are', she said lightly.

'What's that got to do with it?'

'They'll keep out of my way', she insisted. 'It takes two to make an accident'.

'Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself'.

'I hope I never will', she answered. 'I hate careless people. That's why I like you'.

The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald.