If Death stepped miraculously through the glass and came in after you, in all probability you just got up and went along with him, ferociously but quietly.

Franny was staring at the little blotch of sunshine with a special intensity, as if she were considering lying down in it.

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.

You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.

I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty... you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are.

Poets are always taking the weather so personally. They're always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotions.

The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.