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For joy, apparently, it was all Franny could do to hold the phone, even with both hands.

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
Phones
Hold
Joy
Hands
Even
Apparently
Phone

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Were most of your stars out? Were you busy writing your heart out?
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We don't talk, we hold forth. We don't converse, we expound.
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I privately say to you, old friend... please accept from me this unpretentious bouquet of early-blooming parentheses: (((()))).
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Don't hate me because I can't remember some person immediately. Especially when they look like everybody else, and talk and dress and act like everybody else.
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I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.
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I'd swear to God, if I were a piano player or an actor or something and all those dopes thought I was terrific, I'd hate it. I wouldn't even want them to clap for me. People always clap for the wrong things. If I were a piano player, I'd play it in the goddam closet.
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It’s history. It’s poetry.
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who wants flowers when youre dead? nobody.
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You asked me how to get out of the finite dimensions when I feel like it. I certainly don't use logic when I do it. Logic's the first thing you have to get rid of.
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How that name comes up. Mixing memory and desire
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I love to write and I assure you I write regularly... But I write for myself, for my own pleasure. And I want to be left alone to do it.
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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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Ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row.
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It always smelled like it was raining outside, even if it wasn't, and you were in the only nice, dry, cosy place in the world.
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It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you felt like you were disappearing every time you crossed a road.
J. D. Salinger
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Each of his phrases was rather like a little ancient island, inundated by a miniature sea of whiskey.
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There isn't anyone out there who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady.
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I knew it wasn't too important, but it made me sad anyway.
J. D. Salinger
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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.
J. D. Salinger
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If there's one thing I hate, it's the movies. Don't even mention them to me.
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