Suddenly it wasn't only a personal thing to me. I could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. I could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn't believe you if you did.

Greasers will still be greasers and Socs will still be Socs. Sometimes I think it's the ones in the middle that are really the lucky stiffs.

I gotta cut smoking or I'll never make track next year

let's do it for Johnny

He sure put things into words good.

It ain't fair that we have all the rough breaks!

But Dally, heaters kill people! Ya' kill 'em with switchblades to, don'tcha?