“But where does by far the bulk, the whole ambulance load, of pain really come from? Where must it come from? Isn't the true poet or painter a seer? Isn't he, actually, the only seer we have on earth? Most apparently not the scientist, most emphatically not the psychiatrist.”
More from J. D. Salinger
“I pretended she was you.”
“I don’t love her any more, either. I don’t know. I do and I don’t. It varies. It…”
“I just hope that one day—preferably when we're both blind drunk—we can talk about it.”
“...she was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls if you hold hands with them, their…”