Seriously, the world is changing so quickly that if you had any more than 80 years of change I don't see how you could stand it psychologically.

Expecting a novel to bear the weight of our whole disturbed society—to help solve our contemporary problems—seems to me a peculiarly American delusion. To write sentences of such authenticity that refuge can be taken in them: isn't this enough? Isn't it a lot?

It seems to me self-evident that if you have a life, things happen in it, and certain things do change; certain things end. People you know die.

Brooklyn was like Philadelphia made better by its proximity to Manhattan.

You're either reading a book or you're not.

So, what, you got cigarette burns, too?" Gitanes said. Chip showed his palm, "It's nothing." "Self-inflicted. You pathetic American." "Different kind of prison" Chip said.

I wanted all of her and resented other boys for wanting any part of her.