Bir kitabı okuyup bitirdiğiniz zaman, bunu yazan keşke çok yakın bir arkadaşım olsaydı da, canım her istediğimde onu telefonla arayıp konuşabilseydim diyorsanız, o kitap bence gerçekten iyidir.""Bir şeyi çok iyi yapıyorsanız, bir süre sonra, dikkatli olmazsanız gösteriş yapmaya başlıyorsunuz. Ve sonunda da iyi olmaktan çıkıyor yaptığınız.""Olgunlaşmamış insanın özelliği, bir dava uğruna soylu bir biçimde ölmek istemesidir, olgun insanın özelliği ise bir dava uğruna gösterişsiz bir biçimde yaşamak istemesidir.""Sakın kimseye bir şey anlatmayın. Herkesi özlemeye başlıyorsunuz sonra.
You should've heard the crowd, though, when he was finished. You would've puked. They went mad. They were exactly the same morons that laugh like hyenas in the movies at stuff that isn't funny. I 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 in the goddam closet.
What he was doing, he was giving her a feel under the table, and at the same time telling her about some guy in his dorm that had eaten a whole bottle of aspirin and nearly committed suicide. His date kept saying to him, "How horrible...Don't, darling. Please, don't. Not here." Imagine giving somebody a feel and telling them about a guy committing suicide at the same time! They killed me.
Me gusta mucho tomar el pelo a una chica cuando se presenta la oportunidad, pero es una cosa curiosa. A las que más me gustan, nunca me apetece mucho tomarles el pelo. A veces me parece que a ellas les gustaría que les tomase el pelo —de hecho sé que les gustaría—, pero es difícil empezar una vez que las conoces desde hace mucho tiempo y nunca les has tomado el pelo.
I just mean that I used to think about old Spencer quite a lot, and if you thought about him too much, you wondered what the heck he was still living for. I mean he was all stooped over, and he had very terrible posture, and in class, whenever he dropped a piece of chalk at the blackboard, some guy in the first row always had to get up and pick it up and hand it to him. That's awful, in my opinion. But if you thought about him just enough and not too much, you could figure it out that he wasn't doing too bad for himself. For instance, one Sunday when some other guys and I went over there for hot chocolate, he showed us this old beat-up Navajo blanket that he and Mrs. Spencer'd bought off some Indian in Yellowstone Park. You could tell old Spencer'd got a big bang out of buying it. That's what I mean. You take somebody old as hell, like old Spencer, and they can get a big bang out of buying a blanket.
The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody'd move. You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south, the deers would still be drinking out of that water hole, with their pretty antlers and their pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be weaving that same blanket. Nobody'd be different. The only thing that would be different would be you. Not that you'd be so much older or anything. It wouldn't be that, exactly. You'd just be different, that's all. You'd have an overcoat on this time. Or the kid that was your partner in line the last time had got scarlet fever and you'd have a new partner. Or you'd have a substitute taking the class, instead of Miss Aigletinger. Or you'd heard your mother and father having a terrific fight in the bathroom. Or you'd just passed by one of those puddles in the street with gasoline rainbows in them. I mean you'd be different in some way- I can't explain what I mean. And even if I could, I'm not sure I'd feel like it.
نمیخوام بگم که فقط آدم های تحصیل کرده و با سواد میتوانند چیزهای با ارزشی را به جهان عرضه کنند . همیشه اینطوری نیست . اما معتقدم افراد تحصیلکرده و باسواد ، اگر باهوش و خلاق باشند - که متاسقانه به ندرت این جوری هستند - نسبت به آن هایی که صرفا باهوش و خلاق هستند آثار با ارزش تری از خودشون به جا میگذارند . آن ها میتوانند حرف هایشان را روشن تر بیان کنند و معمولا مشتاقند افکارشان را تا آخر دنبال کنند . مهمتر از همه ، از هر ده نفر ، نه نفرشان نسبت به متفکرین تحصیل نکرده تواضع و فروتنی بیشتری دارند .
Ainult mulle tundub, et tihti inimene ei tea algul isegi, mis teda huvitab, ja avastab selle alles kõneldes millestki, mis teda eriti ei huvita. Sinna ei ole midagi parata. Sellepärast ma arvan, et inimene jäetagu rahule, kui ta on vähemalt millestki huvitatud ja kõneldes põlema läheb. Mulle meeldib, kui keegi põlema läheb. See on nii kena.
Then I thought about the whole bunch of them sticking me in a goddam cemetery and all, with my name on this tombstone and all. Surrounded by dead guys. Boy, when you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in a river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.
See kuristik, mille poole sa veered, on erilist laadi, kohutav kuristik. Inimene, kes sinna kukub, ei tunne selle põhja. Ta aina langeb ja langeb. Niisugusesse kuristikku langevad inimesed, kes oma elu teataval perioodil on hakanud otsima midagi sellist, mida nende ümbrus neile pakkuda ei suuda. Või õigemini - kes arvavad, et nende ümbrus ei suuda seda neile pakkuda. Ja nad loobuvad otsimast. Loobuvad enne, kui nad on õieti alustanudki.
It rained on his lousy tombstone, and it rained on the grass on his stomach. It rained all over the place. All the visitors that were visiting the cemetery started running like hell over to their cars. That's what nearly drove me crazy. All the visitors could get in their cars and turn on their radios and all and then go someplace nice for dinner- everybody except Allie. I couldn't stand it. I know it's only his body and all that's in the cemetery, and his soul's in Heaven and all that crap, but I couldn't stand it anyway. I just wish he wasn't there. You didn't know him. If you'd known him, you'd know what I mean. It's not too bad when the sun's out, but the sun only comes out when it feels like coming out.
Eso es lo malo. Que no hay forma de dar con un sitio bonito y tranquilo porque no existe. Puedes creer que existe, pero una vez que llegas allí, cuando no estás mirando, alguien se cuela y escribe «Que te jodan» delante de tus narices. Prueben y verán. Creo que si algún día me muero y me meten en un cementerio y me ponen encima una lápida que diga Holden Caulfield y el año en que nací y el año de mi muerte, debajo alguien escribirá «Que te jodan». De hecho estoy convencido.
Boy, did he depress me! I don't mean he was a bad guy- he wasn't. But you don't have to be a bad guy to depress somebody- you can be a good guy and do it. All you have to do to depress somebody is give them a lot of phony advice while you're looking for your initials in some can door- that's all you have to do. I don't know. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been all out of breath.