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“I do like him. I’m sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect.…
And the worst part is, if you go bohemian or something crazy like that, you’re conforming just as much as everybody else, only in a different way.”
“All I know is I’m losing my mind,” Franny said. “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—it is, it is. I don’t care what anybody says.”
THE facts at hand presumably speak for themselves, but a trifle more vulgarly, I suspect, than facts even usually do.
“I don’t know what good it is to know so much and be smart as whips and all if it doesn’t make you happy.”
If he didn’t have a cigar to hold on to, his feet would leave the ground.
