Rabbit, Run

К чему цепляться за приличия, если так легко идти по головам?

— Я думал, что готов к смерти, — сказал отец. — Но теперь я не уверен, есть ли такой человек на свете, который к этому готов. Не уверен, что даже девяностодевятилетний китаец с туберкулезом, триппером, сифилисом и зубной болью готов к смерти.

It's one thing to get hell from other people and another from your own parents.

Right and wrong aren't dropped from the sky. We. We make them. Against misery. Invariably, Harry, invariably.

The fullness ends when we give Na­ture her ransom, when we make children for her. Then she is through with us, and we become, first inside, and then outside, junk. Flower stalks.

That's what you have, Harry: life. It's a strange gift and I don't know how we're supposed to use it but I know it's the only gift we get and it's a good one.

I suppose that's the tragedy of teaching school. You remember so many and so few remember you.

Men are all heart and women are all body. I don't know who's sup­posed to have the brains. God, I suppose.

Christianity isn't looking for a rainbow. If it were what you think it is we'd pass out opium at services. We're trying to serve God, not be God.

With women, you keep bumping against them, because they want different things, they're a different race. Either they give, like a plant, or scrape, like a stone. In all the green world nothing feels as good as a woman's good nature.