Maybe there's a trapdoor under my chair, and I'll just disappear.

It's really too bad that so much crumby stuff is a lot of fun sometimes.

If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she's late? Nobody.

I ignored the flashes of lightning all around me. They either had your number on them or they didn't.

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

She was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls if you hold hands with them, their goddam hand dies on you, or else they think they have to keep moving their hand all the time, as if they were afraid they'd bore you or something. Jane was different. We'd get into a goddam movie or something, and right away we'd start holding hands, and we wouldn't quit till the movie was over. And without changing the position or making a big deal out of it. You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.

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