Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.

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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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People always clap for the wrong reasons.

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I love to write and I assure you I write regularly. But I write for myself, for my own pleasure. And I want to be left alone to do it.

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

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The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.

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I am a kind of paranoid in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy.

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I have so much I want to tell you, and nowhere to begin.

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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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