Greaser Soc Quotes

Greasers will still be greasers and Socs will still be Socs. Sometimes I think it's the ones in the middle that are really the lucky stiffs.

I am a greaser," Sodapop chanted. "I am a JD and a hood. I blacken the name of our fair city. I beat up people. I rob gas stations. I am a menace to society. Man, do I have fun!" "Greaser...greaser...greaser..."Steve singsonged. "O, victim of enviornment, underprivelaged, rotton no-count hood!" Juvenile delinquent, you're no good!" Darry shouted. Get thee hence, white trash," Two-Bit said in asnobbish voice. "I am a Soc. I am the privelaged and the well-dressed. I throw beer blasts, drive fancy cars, break windows at fancy parties." And what do you do for fun?" I inquired in a serious, awed voice. I jump greasers!" Two-Bit screamed, and did a cartwheel.

Well, that was enough crazy for one night,” she said. “What was that? Greasers verses Socs?

I'm not saying that either Socs or greasers are better; that's just the way things are.

pg.1- “I have light brown, almost red hair and greenish-grey eyes. I wish they were more grey, because I hate most guys that have green eyes, but I have to be content with what I have." pg ?- "Can you see the sunset real good from the west side?" She blinked, startled, then smiled. "Real good." "You can see it from the east side, too," I said quietly. "Thanks, Ponyboy." She smiled through her tears. "You dig okay." She had green eyes. I went on, walking home slowly.

Greasers can’t walk alone too much or they’ll get jumped, or someone will come by and scream “Greaser!” at them, which doesn’t make you feel too hot, if you know what I mean. We get jumped by the Socs. I’m not sure how you spell it, but it’s the abbreviation for the Socials, the jet set, the West-side rich kids. It’s like the term “greaser,” which is used to class all us boys on the East Side.

You can’t win, even if you whip us. You’ll still be where you were before—at the bottom. And we’ll still be the lucky ones with all the breaks. So it doesn’t do any good, the fighting and the killing. It doesn’t prove a thing. We’ll forget it if you win, or if you don’t. Greasers will still be greasers and Socs will still be Socs. Sometimes I think it’s the ones in the middle that are really the lucky stiffs . .

De repente no era algo personal, mío. Me imaginé a cientos y cientos de chicos que vivían en el lado chungo de cada ciudad, chicos de ojos negros que se asustaban de su propia sombra. Cientos de chicos que quizá mirasen las puestas de sol y las estrellas y que deseasen con todas sus fuerzas algo mejor. Pude ver a chicos que se ponían debajo de una farola porque eran malos y duros y odiaban el mundo, y era demasiado tarde para decirles que aún quedaban en ellos cosas buenas, y que no te creerían si lo hicieras. Era un problema demasiado vasto para ser una cuestión personal. Tendría que haber alguna ayuda, alguien debería decírselo antes de que fuera demasiado tarde. Alguien debería contar la historia desde su punto de vista, y quizás entonces la gente lo entendería, y no serían tan ligeros a la hora de juzgar a un chico sólo por la cantidad de gomina que lleve.

Miré el libro, que estaba sobre la mesa. No quería terminarlo. Nunca pasaría de la parte en que los caballeros sureños cabalgan hacia una muerte segura sólo porque son galantes. Caballeros sureños de grandes ojos negros y vestidos con vaqueros y camisetas, caballeros sureños abatidos bajo las farolas.