The color of his pallor, however, was a curiously basic white - unmixed, that is, with the greens and yellows of guilt or abject contrition. It was very like the standard bloodlessness in the face of a small boy who loves animals to distraction, all animals, and who has just seen his favourite, bunny-loving sister's expression as she opened the box containing his birthday present to her - a freshly caught young cobra, with a red ribbon tied in an awkward bow around its neck.
J. D. SalingerI'm known as a strange, aloof kind of man. But all I'm doing is trying to protect myself and my work.
J. D. SalingerI have scars on my hands from touching certain peopleโฆCertain heads, certain colours and textures of human hair leave permanent marks on me.
J. D. SalingerI know he's dead! Don't you think I know that? I can still like him, though, can't I? Just because somebody's dead, you don't just stop liking them, for God's sake--especially if they were about a thousand times nicer than the people you know that're alive and all.
J. D. Salinger