The catcher in the rye... that's all I really want to be.

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.

It's one of those places that are supposed to be very sophisticated and all, and the phonies are coming in the window.

It's everybody, I mean. Everything everybody does is so - I don't know - not wrong, or even mean, or even stupid necessarily. But just so tiny and meaningless and - sad-making. And the worst part is, if you go bohemian or something crazy like that, you're conforming just as much only in a different way.

It's partly true, too, but it isn't all true. People always think something's all true.

The existence of God, the why of life, was all that really only a question of glands?

I like it when somebody gets excited about something. It's nice.