It's partly true, too, but it isn't *all* true. People always think something's *all* true.
He was always asking you to do him a big favour. You take a very handsome guy, or a guy that thinks he's a real hot-shot, and they're always asking you to do them a big favour. Just because *they're* crazy about themself, they think *you're* crazy about them, too, and that you're just dying to do them a favour. It's sort of funny, in a way.
I didn't answer him straight away. Suspense is good for some bastards…
He gave out a big yawn while did he said that. Which is something that gives me a royal pain in the ass. I mean if somebody *yawns* right while they're asking you to do them a goddamn favour.
That's something else that gives me a royal pain. I mean if you're good at writing compositions and somebody starts talking about commas… He wanted you to think that the only reason *he* was lousy at writing compositions was because he stuck all the commas in the wrong place.
That was one good thing about Stradlater. You didn't have to explain every goddamn little thing with him, the way you had to do with Ackley. Mostly, I guess, because he wasn't too interested. That's really why. Ackley, it was different. Ackley a very nosy bastard.
…he didn't answer me right away. He was the kind of a guy that hates to answer you right away.
He always had to know who was going. I swear, if that guy was shipwrecked somewhere, and you rescued him in a goddamn boat, he'd want to know who the guy was that was rowing it before he'd even get in.
When I really worry about something, I don't just fool around. I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something. Only, I don't go. I'm too worried to go. I don't want to interrupt my worrying to go.
He was always stroking his stomach or his chest. He was mad about himself.
He hated it when you called him a moron. All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
That's just the trouble with all you morons. You never want to discuss anything. That's the way you can always tell a moron. They never want to discuss anything intellig–
I felt so lonesome, all of a sudden. I almost wished I was dead.
My mother gets very hysterical. She's not too bad after she gets something thoroughly digested, though.
…you should've seen her. I had her glued to her seat. You take somebody's mother, all they want to hear about is what a hot-shot their son is.
You take a guy like Morrow that's always snapping their towel at people's asses – really trying to *hurt* somebody with it – they don't just stay a rat while they're a kid. They stay a rat they're whole life.
…I tried to get them in a little intelligent conversation, but it was practically impossible.
I thought the two ugly ones, Marty and Laverne, were sisters, but they got very insulted when I asked them. You could tell neither one of them wanted to look like the other one, and you couldn't blame them, but it was very amusing anyway.
The Navy guy and I told each other we were glad to've met each other. Which always kills me. I'm always saying 'Glad to've met you' to somebody I'm not at *all* glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though.
One of my troubles is, I never care too much when I lose something – it used to drive my mother crazy when I was a kid. Some guys spend *days* looking for something they lost. I never seem to have anything that if I lost it I'd care too much. Maybe that's why I'm partly yellow.
If you want to know the truth, I can't stand ministers. The ones they've had at every school I've gone to, they all have these Holy Joe voices when they start giving their sermons. God, I hate that. I don't see why the hell they can't talk in their natural voice. They sound so phony when they talk.
The goddamn movies. They can ruin you. I'm not kidding.
What I really felt like, though, was committing suicide. I felt like jumping out the window. I probably would've done it, too, if I'd been sure somebody'd cover me up as soon as I landed. I didn't want a bunch of stupid rubbernecks looking at me when I was all gory.
I used to think she was quite intelligent, in my stupidity. The reason I did was because she knew quite a lot about the theatre and plays and literature and all that stuff. If somebody knows quite a lot about those things, it takes you quite a while to find out whether they're really stupid or not.
He was enjoying the conversation about tennis and all, but you could tell he would've enjoyed it *more* if I was a Catholic and all. That kind of stuff drives me crazy. I'm not saying it ruined our conversation or anything – it didn't – but it sure as hell didn't do it any good.
He was the kind of a phony that had to give themselves room when they answer somebody's question. He stepped back, and stepped right on the lady's foot behind him. He probably broke every toe in her body.
Girls. You never know what they're going to think.
She was about as kindhearted as a goddamn wolf. You take somebody that cries their goddamn eyes out over phony stuff in the movies, and nine times out of ten they're mean bastards at heart. I'm not kidding.
These intellectual guys don't like to have an intellectual conversation with you unless they're running the whole thing.
The thing he was afraid of, he was afraid somebody'd say something smarter than *he* had. He really amused me.
People never give your message to anybody.
…they had this goddamn secret fraternity that I was too yellow not to join.
…you don't have to be a bad guy to depress somebody – you can be a *good* guy and do it. All you have to do to depress somebody is give them a lot of phony advice…
That's something that annoys hell out of me – I mean if somebody *says* the coffee's all already and it isn't.
You hate to tell *new* stuff to somebody around a hundred years old. They don't like to hear it.
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