All mothers are slightly insane.

Why's it so sunny?" she repeated. Zooey observed her rather narrowly. "I bring the sun wherever I go, buddy," he said.

If you can't, or won't, think of Seymour, then you go right ahead and call in some ignorant psychoanalyst. You just do that. You just call in some analyst who's experienced in adjusting people to the joys of television, and Life magazine every Wednesday, and European travel, and the H-bomb, and Presidential elections, and the front page of the Times, and God knows what else that's gloriously normal.

Liberate yourself from my vice-like grip!

There isn't anyone out there who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady.

People never think anything is anything really. I'm getting goddam sick of it.

Sometimes I see me dead in the rain.