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You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.

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
Really
Jane
Never
Worried
Knew
Hand
Whether
Happy
Hands
Holden
Even
Sweaty

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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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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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Some people you shouldn't kid, even if they deserve 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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That's something that annoys the hell out of me-I mean if somebody says the coffee's all ready and it isn't.
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Oh, this happiness is strong stuff.
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The worst thing that being an artist could do to you would be that it would make you slightly unhappy constantly.
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That's the terrible part. I swear to God I'm a madman.
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That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any.
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I said old Jesus probably would've puked if He could see it - all those fancy costumes and all. Sally said I was a sacrilegious atheist. I probably am. The thing Jesus really would've liked would be the guy who plays the kettle drums in the orchestra.
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I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s. I’m sick of everybody that wants to get somewhere, do something distinguished and all, be somebody interesting. It’s disgusting.
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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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I was surrounded by phonies...They were coming in the goddam window.
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But where does by far the bulk, the whole ambulance load, of pain really come from? Where must it come from? Isn't the true poet or painter a seer? Isn't he, actually, the only seer we have on earth? Most apparently not the scientist, most emphatically not the psychiatrist.
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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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The sentence im reading is terrific.
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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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She said she knew she was able to fly because when she came down she always had dust on her fingers from touching the light bulbs.
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Bessie: 'Why don't you get married?' Zooey: 'I like riding in trains too much. You never get to sit next to the window anymore when you're married.
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Grand. There's a word I really hate. It's a phony. I could puke every time I hear it.
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