She wrote to him fairly regularly, from a paradise of triple exclamation points and inaccurate observations.

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

Who in the Bible besides Jesus knew--knew--that we're carrying the Kingdom of Heaven around with us, inside, where we're all too goddam stupid and sentimental and unimaginative to look?

Tilting his head back he slowly released an enormous quantity of smoke from his mouth and drew it up through his nostrils. He continued to smoke in this "French-inhale" style. Very probably, it was not part of the sofa vaudeville of a showoff but, rather, the private, exposed achievement of a young man who, at one time or another, might have tried shaving himself left-handed.

It's funny. All you have to do is say something nobody understands and they'll do practically anything you want them to.

I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it.

I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s. I’m sick of everybody that wants to get somewhere, do something distinguished and all, be somebody interesting. It’s disgusting.