It’s history. It’s poetry.

I don't even know what I was running for—I guess I just felt like it.

There isn’t a nightclub in the world that you can sit in for a long time unless you can at least buy some liquor and get drunk. Or unless you’re with some girl that really knocks you out.

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

But I was afraid of the questions (much more than the accusations) you might both put to me.

Ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row.

God, how I still love private readers. It’s what we all used to be.