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.
J. D. SALINGERI just hope that one day – preferably when we’re both blind drunk – we can talk about it.
More J. D. Salinger Quotes
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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.
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Most stuff that is genuine is better left unsaid.
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Make sure you marry someone who laughs at the same things you do.
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Know your true measurements and dress your mind accordingly.
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We don’t talk, we hold forth. We don’t converse, we expound.
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I told her I loved her and all. It was a lie, of course, but the thing is, I meant it when I said it. I’m crazy. I swear to God I am.
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Sentimentality is loving something more than God does.
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I have scars on my hands from touching certain people.
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The true poet has no choice of material. The material plainly chooses him, not he it.
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He said you were the only one who was bitter about S’s suicide and the only one who really forgave him for it. The rest of us, he said, were outwardly unbitter and inwardly unforgiving.
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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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I’m sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody.
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I could happily lie down and die sometimes.
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Sometimes you get tired of riding in taxicabs the same way you get tired riding in elevators. All of a sudden, you have to walk, no matter how far or how high up.
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If you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.
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Nobody who’s really using his ego, his real ego, has any time for any goddam hobbies.
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Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.
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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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We are, all four of us, blood relatives, and we speak a kind of esoteric, family language, a sort of semantic geometry in which the shortest distance between any two points is a fullish circle.
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Where do the ducks go in the winter?
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I mean how do you know what you’re going to do till you do it? The answer is, you don’t. I think I am, but how do I know? I swear it’s a stupid question.
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Poets are always taking the weather so personally. They’re always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotions.
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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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All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
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I mean they don’t seem able to love us just the way we are. They don’t seem able to love us unless they can keep changing us a little bit. They love their reasons for loving us almost as much as they love us, and most of the time more.
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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.
J. D. SALINGER