“He was one of those guys that think they're being a pansy if they don't break around forty of your fingers when they shake hands with you. God I hate that stuff.”

“Do you hate people?”“I don't hate them...I just feel better when they're not around.”

“Don't do it. I swear to god I will break your fingers off... Okay, do it.”

“In jail you learn that there are two kinds of guys in this world - and I don't care if they're human or bloodsuckers - there's the ones that take it and the ones that hand it out. And this guy, man - this guy gives it out like fucking candy . . .”

“He stuck around till around dinnertime, talking about all the guys at Pencey that he hated their guts, and squeezing this big pimple on his chin. He didn't even use a handkerchief. I don't even think the bastard had a handkerchief, if you want to know the truth. I never saw him use one, anyway.”

“I hate to admit it, but sometimes I think he's right. When you kiss someone, it's the first taste of his mouth that will make or break your heart.”