It's really too bad that so much crumby stuff is a lot of fun sometimes.
How old are you? I asked her. "Old enough to know better." she said.
You don't always have to get too sexy to get to know a girl.
I ignored the flashes of lightning all around me. They either had your number on them or they didn't.
The room was not impressively large, even by Manhattan apartment-house standards, but its accumulated furnishings might have lent a snug appearance to a banquet hall in Valhalla.
The little girl on the plane Who turned her doll's head around To look at me.
I'm not afraid to compete. It's just the opposite. Don't you see that? I'm afraid I will compete — that's what scares me. That's why I quit the Theatre Department. Just because I'm so horribly conditioned to accept everybody else's values, and just because I like applause and people to rave about me, doesn't make it right. I'm ashamed of it. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody. I'm sick of myself and everybody else that wants to make some kind of a splash.
People never think anything is anything really. I'm getting goddam sick of it.
If sentiment doesn't ultimately make fibbers of some people, their natural abominable memories almost certainly will.
Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first one who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior.
I'd never yell, "Good luck!" at anybody. It sounds terrible, when you think about it.
The goddam movies. They can ruin you. I'm not kidding
who wants flowers when youre dead? nobody.
How do you know you're going to do something, untill you do it?
But guilt is guilt. It doesn't go away. It can't be nullified. It can't even be fully understood, I'm certain - it's roots run too deep into private and long-standing karma. About the only thing that saves my neck when I get to feeling this way is that guilt is an imperfect form of knowledge. Just because it isn't perfect doesn't mean that it can't be used. The hard thing to do is to put it to practical use, before it gets around to paralyzing you.
My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder's mitt. he was left handed. The thing that was descriptive about it though, was that he had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up to bat
Yet a real artist, I've noticed, will survive anything. (Even praise, I happily suspect.)
He said I was unequipped to meet life because I had no sense of humor.
She's quite intelligent, in my stupidity.
He seemed unaware of the messiness of the arrangement.
I prayed for the city to be cleared of people, for the gift of being alone—a-l-o-n-e: which is the one New York prayer that rarely gets lost or delayed in channels, and in no time at all everything I touched turned to solid loneliness.
Don't tell people what you are thinking, or you will miss them terribly when you are away.
Oh, it's lovely to see you!' Franny said as the cab moved off. 'I've missed you.' The words were no sooner out than she realized that she didn't mean them at all.
I have scars on my hands from touching certain people...Certain heads, certain colours and textures of human hair leave permanent marks on me. Other things, too. Charlotte once ran away from me, outside the studio, and I grabbed her dress to stop her, to keep her near me. A yellow cotton dress I loved because it was too long for her. I still have a lemon-yellow mark on the palm of my right hand. Oh God, if I'm anything by a clinical name, I'm a kind of paranoiac in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy.
And I can't be running back and fourth forever between grief and high delight.
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