In Memoriam: J.D. Salinger 1919-2010

Writer. Catcher in the Rye.

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around--nobody big, I mean--except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff--I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all the day. I'd just be a catcher in the rye and all.

Grand. There's a word I really hate. I could puke every time I hear it.

It was a very stupid thing to do, I'll admit, but I hardly even knew I was doing it.

If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she's late? Nobody.

I'm sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect.

That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write fuck you under your nose.

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.