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Extrait ajouté par Sergent_Keroro 2015-01-18T20:05:17+01:00

The thing was, I couldn't think of a room or a house or anything to describe the way Stradlater said he had to have. I'm not too crazy about describing rooms and houses anyway. So what I did, I wrote about my brother Allie's baseball mitt. It was a very descriptive subject. It really was. My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder's mitt. He was left-handed. The thing that was descriptive about it, though, was that he had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up at bat. He's dead now. He got leukemia and died when we were up in Maine, on July 18, 1946. You'd have liked him. He was two years younger than I was, but he was about fifty times as intelligent. He was terrifically intelligent. His teachers were always writing letters to my mother, telling her what a pleasure it was having a boy like Allie in their class. And they weren't just shooting the crap. They really meant it. But it wasn't just that he was the most intelligent member in the family. He was also the nicest, in lots of ways. He never got mad at anybody. People with red hair are supposed to get mad very easily, but Allie never did, and he had very red hair. I'll tell you what kind of red hair he had. I started playing golf when I was only ten years old. I remember once, the summer I was around twelve, teeing off and all, and having a hunch that if I turned around all of a sudden, I'd see Allie. So I did, and sure enough, he was sitting on his bike outside the fence--there was this fence that went all around the course--and he was sitting there, about a hundred and fifty yards behind me, watching me tee off. That's the kind of red hair he had. God, he was a nice kid, though. He used to laugh so hard at something he thought of at the dinner table that he just about fell off his chair. I was only thirteen, and they were going to have me psychoanalyzed and all, because I broke all the windows in the garage. I don't blame them. I really don't. I slept in the garage the night he died, and I broke all the goddam windows with my fist, just for the hell of it. I even tried to break all the windows on the station wagon we had that summer, but my hand was already broken and everything by that time, and I couldn't do it. It was a very stupid thing to do, I'll admit, but I hardly didn't even know I was doing it, and you didn't know Allie. My hand still hurts me once in a while when it rains and all, and I can't make a real fist any more--not a tight one, I mean--but outside of that I don't care much. I mean I'm not going to be a goddam surgeon or a violinist or anything anyway.

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Extrait ajouté par Sergent_Keroro 2015-01-18T20:02:43+01:00

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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Extrait ajouté par Sergent_Keroro 2015-01-18T20:02:13+01:00

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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Extrait ajouté par Sergent_Keroro 2015-01-18T20:01:59+01:00

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.

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Extrait ajouté par Sergent_Keroro 2015-01-18T20:00:45+01:00

I don't exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it.

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Extrait ajouté par Sergent_Keroro 2015-01-18T19:59:41+01:00

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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Extrait ajouté par Sergent_Keroro 2015-01-18T19:59:32+01:00

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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Extrait ajouté par Sergent_Keroro 2015-01-18T19:58:46+01:00

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

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Extrait ajouté par StupidGRIN 2014-12-14T21:02:53+01:00

J’espère que lorsque je mourrai, quelqu’un aura le bon sens de me jeter dans une rivière.

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Extrait ajouté par wizbiz06 2012-07-09T18:07:07+02:00

Et tout d’un coup ça m’a fait de la peine pour lui. Mais je pouvais pas traîner plus longtemps, avec ces années-lumière entre nous et puis vu qu’il continuait à manquer le but chaque fois qu’il lançait quelque chose sur le lit, et tout le reste, son vieux peignoir minable qui lui couvrait pas bien la poitrine, et cette sale odeur des gouttes Vicks pour le nez    — J’ai dit « Ecoutez, monsieur, vous faites pas de soucis pour moi. Je vous assure que ça ira. C’est seulement que je suis dans une mauvaise passe, en ce moment. Tout le monde a des mauvaises passes, vous savez

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