I used to be sure of things. Me, once i had all the answers. I wish i was a kid again, when i had all the answers.
Sixteen years on the streets and you can learn a lot. But all the wrong things, not the things you want to learn. Sixteen years on the streets and you see a lot. But all the wrong sights, not the things you want to see.
When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.
Movies can’t ruin books. They can only ruin movies.
Can you see the sunset real good on the West side? You can see it on the East side too.
Johnny almost grinned as he nodded. “Tuff enough,” he managed, and by the way his eyes were glowing, I figured Southern gentlemen had nothing on Johnny Cade.
We couldn’t get along without him. We needed Johnny as much as he needed the gang. And for the same reason.
Dally was so real he scared me.
Things were rough all over, but it was better that way. That way you could tell the other guy was human too.
I gotta cut smoking or I’ll never make track next year.
They used to be buddies, I thought, they used to be friends, and now they hate each other because one has to work for a living and the other comes from the West Side. They shouldn’t hate each other...
Asleep, he looked a lot younger than going-on-seventeen, but I had noticed that Johnny looked younger when he was asleep too, so I figured everyone did. Maybe people are younger when they are asleep.
Things are rough all over.
Get smart and nothing can touch you.
Writer’s were supposed to be a litte crazy.
I learned that if you want to get somewhere, you just make up your mind and work like hell til you get there.
We had played a kid’s version of gang fighting called “Civil War,” and then later we had got in on the real thing, we fought with chains and we fought barefisted and we fought Socs and we fought other grease gangs. It was a normal childhood.
He sure put things into words good.
I had it then. Soda fought for fun, Steve for hatred, Darry for pride, and Two-Bit for conformity. Why do I fight? I thought, and couldn’t think of any real good reason. There isn’t any real good reason for fighting except self-defense.
You know the rules. No jazz before a rumble.