“Grand. There’s a word I really hate. It’s a phony. I could puke every time I hear it.”

Mothers are all slightly insane.

Poets are always taking the weather so personally. They’re always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotions.

Nobody who’s really using his ego, his real ego, has any time for any goddam hobbies.

But it wasn’t just that he was the most intelligent member in the family. He was also the nicest, in lots of ways. He never got mad at anybody. People with red hair are supposed to get mad very easily, but Allie never did, and he had very red hair.

I’ll read my books and I’ll drink coffee and I’ll listen to music, and I’ll bolt the door.

Why’s it so sunny? she repeated. Zooey observed her rather narrowly. I bring the sun wherever I go, buddy, he said.

That’s something that annoys the hell out of me-I mean if somebody says the coffee’s all ready and it isn’t.

People never notice anything.

Where do the ducks go in the winter?

I was sixteen then, and I’m seventeen now, and sometimes I act like I’m about thirteen. Sometimes, I act a lot older than I am–I really do. But people never notice it. People never notice anything.

You think of the book you’d most like to be reading, and then you sit down and shamelessly write it.

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.

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

I’m sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody.

You don’t know how to talk to people you don’t like. Don’t love, really. You can’t live in the world with such strong likes and dislikes.

You can’t stop a teacher when they want to do something. They just do it.