Okay greasers,you've had it.

They used to be buddies, I thought, they used to be friends, and now they hate each other because one has to work for a living and the other comes from the West Side. They shouldn't hate each other.

I guess I just couldn't see standing there -- alive, talking, thinking, breathing, being -- one second, and dead the next. It really bothered me. Death by violence isn't the same as dying any other way, accident or disease or old age. It just ain't the same.

It was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing. There should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late. Someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then, and wouldn’t be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore.

All of a sudden it felt like people were peering over my shoulder, wondering what I would write next. I was blocked for four years.

If you have two friends in your lifetime, you're lucky. If you have one good friend, you're more than lucky

I didn't think much about that statement then. But later I would-I still do. I think about it and think about it until I think I'm going crazy.