You don't have to think too hard when you talk to teachers.
People never notice anything.
Grand. There's a word I really hate. It's a phony. I could puke every time I hear it.
I don't even know what I was running for—I guess I just felt like it.
probably for every man there is at least one city that sooner or later turns into a girl. how well or how badly the man actually knew the girl doesn’t necessarily affect the transformation. she was there, and she was the whole city, and that’s that
I privately say to you, old friend... please accept from me this unpretentious bouquet of early-blooming parentheses: (((()))).
Boy, when you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead?
I mean how do you know what you're going to do till you do it? The answer is, you don't. I think I am, but how do I know? I swear it's a stupid question.
Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.
The connection was so bad, and I couldn’t talk at all during most of the call. How terrible it is when you say I love you and the person at the other end shouts back ‘What?
Why are you breaking down, incidentally? I mean if you’re able to go into a collapse with all your might, why can’t you use the same energy to stay well and busy?
Bessie: 'Why don't you get married?' Zooey: 'I like riding in trains too much. You never get to sit next to the window anymore when you're married.
I was six when I saw that everything was God, and my hair stood up, and all, Teddy said. It was on a Sunday, I remember. My sister was a tiny child then, and she was drinking her milk, and all of a sudden I saw that she was God and the milk was God. I mean, all she was doing was pouring God into God, if you know what I mean.
It is my rather subversive opinion that a writer's feelings of anonymity-obscurity are the second most valuable property on loan to him during his working years.
A confessional passage has probably never been written that didn't stink a little bit of the writer's pride in having given up his pride.
Were most of your stars out? Were you busy writing your heart out?
It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you felt like you were disappearing every time you crossed a road.
Sometimes you get tired of riding in taxicabs the same way you get tired riding in elevators. All of a sudden, you have to walk, no matter how far or how high up.
I mean they don't seem able to love us just the way we are. They don't seem able to love us unless they can keep changing us a little bit. They love their reasons for loving us almost as much as they love us, and most of the time more.
I don't know what good it is to know so much and be smart as whips and all if it doesn't make you happy.
Sentimentality is loving something more than God does.
I just hope that one day - preferably when we’re both blind drunk - we can talk about it.
People are mostly hot to have a discussion when you're not.
You don't know how to talk to people you don't like. Don't love, really. You can't live in the world with such strong likes and dislikes.
Always, always, always referring every goddam thing that happens right back to our lousy little egos.
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