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Goddam money. it always ends up making you blue as hell. page - with you
Lined Premium PagesIn my mind, I'm probably the biggest sex maniac you ever saw.
Holden Caulfield
One of Holden's greatest internal quandaries regards how to resolve the paradox of love and sex. Holden wants to feel the deepest type of love possible, the love that died when he lost his sibling years ago. The intensity of his raging adolescent hormones makes him think that somehow sex would be joined with that same depth of love for a another person, though in reality sex comes all too easily with money rather than authentic feeling. In his mind, Holden suggests, he is fantasizing constantly about sex, and his friend suggests that the “typical Caulfield conversation” is preoccupied with sex. Yet, the reality is that he never brings this mania into practice; sex without love can be at best a temporary release of the pain of loneliness.
I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.
Holden Caulfield
Here, Holden reflects on the adolescent male’s (or perhaps most males’, most people’s) tendency to overreach, to create relationships in their minds on the basis of a single seemingly genuine encounter. A single “pretty” thing launches fantasies of love. The more alienated and lonely Holden becomes, the more he recedes into his own fantasies, yet he recognizes that seeking pleasure through this kind of imagination is just “crazy,” not an authentic way to temper the pain he feels.
People never notice anything.
Holden Caulfield
Many of the most famous lines in Salinger's novel begin with the word “People.” For Holden, the word marks Holden's attempt to separate himself from others. Holden is not like other “people”; the world is against him. Generalizing in this way, setting himself apart, can make him feel better about his own idiosyncrasies and low self-esteem, giving him a sense that he is better than the mass of people, who fail to notice what he perceives. Holden sees through phoniness while others accept it.
What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. I mean I've left schools and places I didn't even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don't care if it's a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I like to know I'm leaving it. If you don't, you feel even worse.
Holden Caulfield
On one level, this is about what is called “closure,” the sense that a chapter of his life has ended, with a certain level of consent to leaving a place, letting it go. Sometimes, it seems, a suspension led to an expulsion before Holden had a chance for closure. At a deeper level, however, Holden realizes in this case that he has trouble getting to that feeling of closure; he has a hard time with feelings anymore. Hanging around, he is hoping to get to the feeling of goodbye. When he leaves Pencey, he wants to at least feel a sense of vindication, triumph, or at least sadness or regret. He seems to feel little or nothing, however, reinforcing how disconnected he feels from himself. More broadly, his entire journey is an attempt to reconnect with feelings and emotions long buried, to get all the goodbyes out of the way and clear his troubles so that he can finally move on after Allie’s death.
When I really worry about something, I don't just fool around. I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something. Only, I don't go. I'm too worried to go. I don't want to interrupt my worrying to go.
Holden Caulfield
Holden appears to have a rich mental life, but it often debilitates him. He does not worry like the phonies, he feels; for him, the worry is all-consuming. Worry, however, is about something other than the present reality; for him it seems to be involved with the neuroses and fantasies which plague him and lead him in search of some greater fulfillment in life. All the worrying seems to be a defense against the pain of reality.
Goddam money. It always ends up making you blue as hell.
Holden Caulfield
Holden picks up on the usual critique of consumerism and greed: money corrupts and does not in itself buy happiness. His own experience shows that he has not spent his money on things that have brought relief of his pain, and whatever hope he had at the time of spending is dashed in the realization that it has not made him feel better. There is also a subtext in his statement: Holden apparently is from a wealthy family that can afford to send him to private schools, which has alienated him.
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.
Holden Caulfield
This is probably the most famous passage in Salinger's novel, being the source of its title. It attests to Holden's desire to play the rescuer to all the children who might suffer in their lives. They can continue along in their innocence doing what they like, and Holden will be there to make sure that the one deadly boundary is not crossed. They do not need to look where they are going during their game so long as there is someone to catch them at the edge. Moreover, they do not know he is there to watch over them, godlike, unless they really need his help at the last moment. This is Holden's fantasy because a catcher would have caught Allie or, failing that, would have caught Holden and saved him from his descent into loneliness and pain.
Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.
Holden Caulfield
Holden lives in such pain, having given himself to his brother and then watched him die, that he cannot bear to open up to anyone again because of the thought of loss, having to lose something that meant everything. Here, telling someone something means opening up to say something authentic. This is not something he would advise, however, because the closeness and trust involved in this genuine act not only will one day be lost, but also will show that one does not have this closeness or trust with others.
It's no fun to be yellow. Maybe I'm not all yellow. I don't know. I think maybe I'm just partly yellow and partly the type that doesn't give much of a damn if they lose their gloves.
Holden Caulfield
Here Holden acknowledges some of his cowardice. He is not the kind of weenie who worries over lost gloves; no, when he worries, he worries about deep issues and puts his whole self into it. Maybe that is genuine worry, he thinks, rather than “yellow” fear of the kind felt by the phonies in the world.
I don't even know what I was running for--I guess I just felt like it.
Holden Caulfield
This is a telling statement about Holden’s orientation toward his present life. He is running from his feelings, often not for any conscious reason but to avoid what may happen if he stops long enough to examine them. When he is choosing to avoid authentic human interaction in order to avoid the future pain of loss, it is more of an emotional choice than a rational comparison of one pain against another.
The Catcher in the Rye Quotes
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What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though.
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The Catcher in the Rye
Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.
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Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. 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.
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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 am always saying "Glad to've met you" to somebody I'm not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though.
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The Catcher in the RyeHolden Caulfield
I like it when somebody gets excited about something. It's nice.
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That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.
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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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The Catcher in the Rye
It's funny. All you have to do is say something nobody understands and they'll do practically anything you want them to.
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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 the 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.
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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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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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when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose.
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I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life. It's awful. If I'm on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even, and somebody asks me where I'm going, I'm liable to say I'm going to the opera. It's terrible.
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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. I know it's crazy.
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If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she's late?
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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 they're pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be weaving that same blanket. Nobody's 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 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.
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I was trying to feel some kind of good-bye. I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don’t care if it’s a sad good-bye or a bad good-bye, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it. If you don’t you feel even worse.
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If you do something too good, then, after a while, if you don't watch it, you start showing off. And then you're not as good any more.
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Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad.
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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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It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically cold, and no sun out or anything, and you felt like you were disappearing every time you crossed a road.
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If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn't rub out even half the "Fuck you" signs in the world. It's impossible.
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I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it.
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I think that one of these days," he said, "you're going to have to find out where you want to go. And then you've got to start going there. But immediately. You can't afford to lose a minute. Not you.
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This fall I think you're riding for—it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started.
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I used to think she was quite intelligent , in my stupidity. The reason I did was because she knew quite a lot about the theater and plays and literature and all that stuff. If somebody knows quite a lot about all those things, it takes you quite a while to find out whether they're really stupid or not.
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It's partly true, too, but it isn't all true. People always think something's all true.
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I don’t give a damn, except that I get bored sometimes when people tell me to act my age. 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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Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according to the rule."Yes, sir. I know it is. I know it."Game, my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot-shots are, then it's a game, all right-I'll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where there aren't any hot-shots, then what's a game about it? Nothing. No game.
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I know he's dead! Don't you think I know that? I can still like him, though, can't I? Just because somebody's dead, you don't just stop liking them, for God's sake--especially if they were about a thousand times nicer than the people you know that're alive and all.
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It's not too bad when the sun's out, but the sun only comes out when it feels like coming out.
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She was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls if you hold hands with them, their goddam hand dies on you, or else they think they have to keep moving their hand all the time, as if they were afraid they'd bore you or something. Jane was different. We'd get into a goddam movie or something, and right away we'd start holding hands, and we wouldn't quit till the movie was over. And without changing the position or making a big deal out of it. You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.
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I don't even know what I was running for—I guess I just felt like it.
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This is a people shooting hat," I said. "I shoot people in this hat.
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I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it'll say 'Holden Caulfield' on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it'll say 'Fuck you.' I'm positive, in fact.
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Then the carousel started, and I watched her go round and roundAll the kids tried to grap for the gold ring, and so was old Phoebe, and I was sort of afraid she's fall off the goddam horse, but I didn't say or do anything. The thing with kids is, if they want to grab for the gold ring, you have to let them do it, and not say anything. If they fall off, they fall off, but it is bad to say anything to them.
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The Catcher in the RyeHolden Caulfield
I figured I could get a job at a filling station somewhere, putting gas and oil in people's cars. I didn't care what kind of job it was, though. Just so people didn't know me and I didn't know anybody. I thought what I'd do was, I'd pretend I was one of those deaf-mutes. That way I wouldn't have to have any goddam stupid useless conversations with anybody. If anybody wanted to tell me something, they'd have to write it on a piece of paper and shove it over to me. They'd get bored as hell doing that after a while, and then I'd be through with having conversations for the rest of my life. Everybody'd think I was just a poor deaf-mute bastard and they'd leave me alone.
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I live in New York, and I was thinking about the lagoon in Central Park, down near Central Park South. I was wondering if it would be frozen over when I got home, and if it was, where did the ducks go? I was wondering where the ducks went when the lagoon got all icy and frozen over. I wondered if some guy came in a truck and took them away to a zoo or something. Or if they just flew away.
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