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I don't even know what I was running for—I guess I just felt like it.

J. D. Salinger

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J. D. Salinger
Age: 91 †
Born: 1919
Born: January 1
Died: 2010
Died: January 27
Author
Novelist
Writer
New York City
New York
Jerome David Salinger
Jerome Salinger
Holden
Guess
Felt
Running
Even
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She was a girl who for a ringing phone dropped exactly nothing. She looked as if her phone had been ringing continually ever since she had reached puberty.
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I thought what I'd do was I'd pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes.
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The world is full of actors pretending to be human
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Sentimentality is loving something more than God does.
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It isn't very serious, I have this tiny little tumor on the brain.
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An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's.
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It was a very stupid thing to do, I'll admit, but I hardly didn't even know I was doing it.
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This is God's universe, buddy, not yours, and he has the final say about what's ego and what isn't.
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Oh, this happiness is strong stuff.
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If sentiment doesn't ultimately make fibbers of some people, their natural abominable memories almost certainly will.
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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.
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There isn't anyone anywhere who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. Don't you know that? Don't you know that goddam secret yet? And don't you know — listen to me, now — don't you know who that Fat Lady really is? . . . Ah, buddy. Ah, buddy. It's Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy.
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And I have one of those very loud, stupid laughs. I mean if I ever sat behind myself in a movie or something, I'd probably lean over and tell myself to please shut up.
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I prayed for the city to be cleared of people, for the gift of being alone—a-l-o-n-e: which is the one New York prayer that rarely gets lost or delayed in channels, and in no time at all everything I touched turned to solid loneliness.
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We don't talk, we hold forth. We don't converse, we expound.
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Life is a gift horse in my opinion.
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Do it for the fat lady!
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If there is an amateur reader still left in the world - or anybody who just reads and runs - I ask him or her, with untellable affection and gratitude, to split the dedication of this book four ways with my wife and children.
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I ignored the flashes of lightning all around me. They either had your number on them or they didn't.
J. D. Salinger
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She wrote to him fairly regularly, from a paradise of triple exclamation points and inaccurate observations.
J. D. Salinger