I say that the true artist seer, the heavenly fool who can and does produce beauty, is mainly dazzled to death by his own scruples, the blinding shapes and colors of his own human conscience.
I think that once you have a fair idea where you want to go, your first move will be to apply yourself in school.
I thought what I'd do was I'd pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes.
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...
It was just terrible! And the worst part was, I knew what a bore I was being, I knew how I was depressing people, or even hurting their feelings- but I just couldn't stop! I just could not stop pickin...
It's history. It's poetry.
Just as someday, 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.
Last month, Dean Sheeter (whose name usually transports Franny when I mention it) approached me with his gracious smile and bull whip, and I am now lecturing to the faculty, their wives, and a few opp...
Los que de verdad me vuelven loco son esos libros que cuando acabas de leerlos piensas que ojalá el autor fuera amigo tuyo y pudieras llamarle por teléfono cuando quisieras.
Mother, darling, don't yell at me. I can hear you beautifully, said the girl.
My opinions are all too frequently too damn harsh for words.
One of the thousand reasons I quit going to the theater when I was about twenty was that I resented like hell filing out of the theater just because some playwright was forever slamming down his silly...
People always clap for the wrong reasons.
Postponed pain is among the most abominable kind to experience.
Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next. Is he ever wrong?
She cried for fully five minutes. She cried without trying to suppress any of the noisier manifestations of grief and confusion, with all the convulsive throat sounds that a hysterical child makes whe...
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.
She was always reading, and she read very good books.
She worries over the way her love for me comes and goes, appears and disappears. She doubts its reality simply because it isn't as steadily pleasurable as a kitten. God knows it is sad. The human voic...
She wrote to him fairly regularly, from a paradise of triple exclamation points and inaccurate observations.
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