Madison Bridges Quotes

The human heart has a way of making itself large again even after it's been broken into a million pieces.

In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live.

The old dreams were good dreams; they didn't work out but I'm glad I had them.

Analysis destroys wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole. If you look at their pieces, they go away.

And in that moment, everything I knew to be true about myself up until then was gone. I was acting like another woman, yet I was more myself than ever before.

The heart never forgets, never gives up, the territory marked off for those who came before.

Complex things are easy to do. Simplicity's the real challenge.

It's clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty bumming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another.

I don't wanna need you because I can't have you.

I sometimes have the feeling you've been here a long time, more than one lifetime, and that you've dwelt in private places none of the rest of us has even dreamed about.

First you must have the images, then come the words.

There are songs that come free from the blue-eyed grass, from the dust of a thousand country roads. This is one of them.

So here I am walking around with another person inside of me. Though I think I put it better the day we parted when I said there is a third person we have created from the two of us. And I am stalked now by that other entity.

Such physical matters were nice, yet, to him, intelligence and passion born of living, the ability to move and be moved by subtleties of the mind and spirit, were what really counted.

The reality is not exactly what the song started out to be, but it's not a bad song.

...realities that kept the music silent, the dreams in a box.

He was an animal. A graceful, hard, male animal who did nothing overtly to dominate her yet dominated her completely, in the exact way she wanted that to happen at this moment.

I am the highway and a peregrine and all the sails that ever went to sea

Anyone who can feel that way about a woman is worth lovin himself.

The road is a strange place. Shuffling along, I looked up and you were there walking across the grass toward my truck on an August day. In retrospect, it seems inevitable - it could not have been any other way-- a case of what I call the high probability of the improbable

This kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime.

Eventually, computers and robots will run things. Humans will manage those machines, but that doesn't require courage or strength, or any characteristics like those. In fact, men are outliving their usefulness

I don't like feeling sorry for myself. That's not who I am. And most of the time I don't feel that way. Instead, I am grateful for having at least found you. We could have flashed by one another like two pieces of cosmic dust. God or the universe or whatever one chooses to label the great systems of balance and order does not recognize Earth-time. To the universe, four days is no different than four billion light years. I try to keep that in mind. But, I am, after all, a man. And all the philosophic rationalizations I can conjure up do not keep me from wanting you, every day, every moment, the merciless wail of time, of time I can never spend with you, deep within my head. I love you, profoundly and completely. And I always will. The last cowboy, Robert

And, man he cried when he talked. He cried big tears, the kind it takes an old man to cry, the kind it takes a saxophone to play.

You make pictures, not take them? Yes. At least that's how I think of it. That's the difference between Sunday snapshooters and someone who does it for a living... I don't just take things as given, I try to make them into something that reflects my personal consciousness, my spirit. I try to find the poetry in the image.

Gypsies make difficult friends for ordinary people, and he was seething of a gypsy.

Talisman, Talisman, show me your secrets, Helmsman, Helmsman, turn me for home.

Something I've never been able to adapt to, to understand is how they can lavish such love and care on the animals and then see them sold for slaughter. I don't dare say anything about it, though. Richard and his friends would be down on me in a flash. But there's some kind of cold, unfeeling contradiction in that business.

She wore ribbons in her black hair and clung to her dreams

His eyes looked directly at her, and she felt something jump inside. The eyes, the voice, the face, the silver hair, the easy way he moved his body, old ways, disturbing ways, ways that draw you in. Ways that whisper to you in the final moment before sleep comes, when the barriers have fallen.

One of the nastier trends in library management in recent years is the notion that libraries should be "responsive to their patrons." This means having dozens of copies of The Bridges of Madison County and Danielle Steele, and a consequent shortage of shelf space, to cope with which librarians have taken to purging books that haven't been checked out lately.

In a way, women were asking for men to be poets and driving, passionate lovers at the same time.

We have both lost ourselves and created something else, something that exists only as an interlacing of the two of us. Christ, we're in love. As deeply, as profoundly, as it's possible to be in love.

...a case of what I call the high probability of the improbable.

He liked words and images. "Blue" was one of his favorite words. He liked the feeling it made on his lips and tongue when he said it.

Francesca was feeling good feelings, old feelings, poetry and music feelings.

Y vuelves a atrapar mi tristeza para esconderla en tu bolsillo, para alejarla de mi… De nuevo has sembrado el jardín de mis pesadillas con nuevos sueños

We're giving up free range, getting organized, feathering our emotions. Efficiency an effectiveness and all those other pieces of intellectual artifice. And with the loss of free range, the cowboy disappears, along with the mountain lion and gray wolf. There's not much room left for travelers.

I made that horn sound like it never had before; I made it cry for all the miles and years that separated them.

Why was not important. That was not the way he approached his life. 'Analysis destroys wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole. If you look at their pieces, they go away.

Sometime I'm going to do an essay called 'The Virtues of Amateurism' for all of those people who wish they earned their living in the arts. The market kills more artistic people than anything else. It's a world of safety out there, for most people. They want safety, the magazines and manufacturers give them safety, give them homogeneity, give them the familiar and comfortable, don't challenge them.

It already smells good," he said, pointing toward the stove. "It smells... quiet." He looked at her. "Quiet? Could something smell quiet" She was thinking about the phrase, asking herself. He was right. After the pork chops and steaks and roasts she cooked for the family, this was quiet cooking. No violence involved anywhere down the food chain, except maybe for pulling up the vegetables. The stew cooked quietly and smelled quiet.

Custom brings predictability, and predictability carries its own comforts.

The market kills more artistic passion than anything else.

I was wrong, Robert. I was wrong, but I can't go. Let me tell you again why I can't go. Tell me again why I should go.

《Abbiamo perduto noi stessi e creato qualcos'altro, qualcosa che esiste in quanto ci unisce. Ci amiamo. Con tutta la profondità, l'intensità con cui è possibile amarsi.》

Something I've never been able to adapt to, to understand, is how they can lavish such love and care on the animals and then see them sold for slaughter.

She was more of a business partner to him than anything else. Some of her appreciated that. But rustling yet within her was another person who wanted to bathe and perfume herself...and be taken, carried away, and peeled back by a force she could sense, but never articulate, even dimly within her mind.

Things change. They always do, its one of the things of nature. Most people are afraid of change but if you look at it as something you can always count on, then it can be a comfort.

I have noticed a curious bifurcation in outcome in the way romances are written by women et written by men - Love Story, The Bridges of Madison County, every James Bond tale ever penned, even the film named above - end with the woman either lost or dead. And the man free to love, or at least to have sex, again. Romances (in the modern genre sense) written by women end with the couple alive, together, and in a committed and at least potentially fertile relationship, ready to turn to the work of their world. In other words, men's romances are about love and death; women's romances are about love and life.

Such physical matters were nice, yet to him, intelligence and passion born of living, the ability to move and be moved by the subtleties of the mind and spirit, were what really counted. That’s why he found most young woman unattractive, regardless of their exterior beauty. They had not lived long enough or hard enough to possess those qualities that interested him.

Sad mi je jasno da sam se već dugo kretao prema Tebi i Ti prema meni. Premda ni jedno od nas nije bilo svesno postojanja drugoga pre nego smo se upoznali. Za sve vreme u našoj je nesvesnosti radosno lutala neka slepa izvesnost koja je garantovala da ćemo se sresti. Poput dveju usamljenih ptica što svoj put preko golemih prerija pronalaze pomoću nebeskih znakova, tako smo se i mi sav svoj život kretali jedno prema drugom

Robert, there's a creature inside of you that I'm not good enough to bring out, not strong enough to reach. I sometimes have the feeling you've been here a long time, more than one lifetime, and that you've dwelt in private places none of the rest of us has even dreamed about. You frighten me, even though you're gentle with me. If I didn't fight to control myself with you, I feel like I might lose my center and never get back.

God or the universe or whatever one chooses to label the great systems of balance and order does not recognize Earth-time. To the universe, four days is no different than four billion light years. I try to keep that in mind.

The marketing people are always talking about something called 'consumers'. I have this image of a fat little man in baggy Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a straw hat with beer-can openers dangling from it, clutching fistfuls of dollars.

«Dobbiamo rinunciare a tutto, dunque?» Era serio, non sorrideva. «Non so neppure questo. Robert, in un certo senso ti appartengo. Non volevo che accadesse, non ne sentivo la necessità, e so che questo vale anche per te, ma è andata così. In realtà non sono seduta qui sull'erba, accanto a te. Mi hai dentro di te, come una prigioniera volontaria».

Stari su snovi bili lijepi snovi; nisu se ispunili, ali sretan sam što sam ih imao.

maudlin makes it difficult to enter the realm of gentleness

You never in your life think that love like this can happen to you

I don't want to need you, 'cause I can't have you.

Анализът накърнява целостта. Някои неща,магическите неща трябва да си останат непокътнати. Взреш ли се в съставките им,те изчезват.

[...] wondering about a man to whom the difference between a pasture and a meadow seemed important, [...] who seemed like the wind. And moved like it. Came from it, perhaps.

To covered bridges in the late afternoon, or, better yet, on warm red mornings.

My contention is that male hormones are the ultimate cause of trouble on this planet. It was one thing to dominate another tribe or another warrior. It’s quite another to have missiles.

I’ll never say it another time, to anyone, and I ask you to remember it: In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live.

Did you ever get fed up?" I said. "I mean did you ever get scared that everything was going to go lousy unless you did something? I mean do you like school and all that stuff?" "It's a terrific bore." "I mean do you hate it? I know it's a terrific bore, but do you hate it, is what I mean." "Well, I don't exactly hate it. You always have to--" "Well, I hate it. Boy, do I hate it," I said. "But it isn't just that. It's everything. I hate living in New York and all. Taxicabs, and Madison Avenue buses, with the drivers and all always yelling at you to get out at the rear door, and being introduced to phony guys that call the Lunts angels, and going up and down in elevators when you just want to go outside, and guys fitting your pants all the time at Brooks, and people always--" "Don't shout, please," old Sally said. Which was very funny, because I wasn't even shouting. "Take cars," I said. I said it in this very quiet voice. "Take most people, they're crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake. A horse you can at least--" "I don't know what you're even talking about," old Sally said. "You jump from one--" "You know something?" I said. You're probably the only reason I'm in New York right now, or anywhere. If you weren't around, I'd probably be someplace way the hell off. In the woods or some goddam place. You're the only reason I'm around, practically." "You're sweet," she said. But you could tell she wanted me to change the damn subject. "You ought to go to a boys' school sometime. Try it sometime," I said. "It's full of phonies, and all you do is study so that you can learn enough to be smart enough to be able to buy a goddam Cadillac some day, and you have to keep making believe you give a damn if the football team loses, and all you do is talk about girls and liquor and sex all day, and everybody sticks together in these dirty little goddam cliques. The guys that are on the basketball team stuck together, the Catholics stick together, the guys that play bridge stick together. Even the guys that belong to the goddam Book-of-the-Month Club stick together. If you try to have a little intelligent--" "Now, listen," old Sally said. "Lots of boys get more out of school that that." "I agree! I agree they do, some of them! But that's all I get out of it. See? That's my point. That's exactly my goddamn point," I said. "I don't get hardly anything out of anything. I'm in bad shape. I'm in lousy shape." "You certainly are.

Ecco perché sono su questo pianeta, in questo tempo, Francesca. Non per viaggiare o fare fotografie, ma per amarti. Adesso lo so. Per molti più anni di quanti non ne abbia vissuti, ho continuato a precipitare dall'orloo di un luogo immenso e altissimo. E in tutti questi anni precipitato verso di te

I want to keep it forever. I want to love you the way I do now the rest of my life. Don't you understand... we'll lose it if we leave. I can't make an entire life disappear to start a new one. All I can do is try to hold onto to both. Help me. Help me not lose loving you.

It seems right now that all I’ve ever done in my life is making my way here to you.’ I could see that Rosie could not place the line from The Bridges of Madison County that had produced such a powerful emotional reaction on the plane. She looked confused. ‘Don, what are you…what have you done to yourself?’ ‘I’ve made some changes.’ ‘Big changes.’ ‘Whatever behavioural modifications you require from me are a trivial price to pay for having you as my partner.’ Rosie made a downwards movement with her hand, which I could not interpret. Then she looked around the room and I followed her eyes. Everyone was watching. Nick had stopped partway to our table. I realised that in my intensity I had raised my voice. I didn’t care. ‘You are the world’s most perfect woman. All other women are irrelevant. Permanently. No Botox or implants will be required. ‘I need a minute to think,’ she said. I automatically started the timer on my watch. Suddenly Rosie started laughing. I looked at her, understandably puzzled at this outburst in the middle of a critical life decision. ‘The watch,’ she said. ‘I say “I need a minute” and you start timing. Don is not dead. 'Don, you don’t feel love, do you?’ said Rosie. ‘You can’t really love me.’ ‘Gene diagnosed love.’ I knew now that he had been wrong. I had watched thirteen romantic movies and felt nothing. That was not strictly true. I had felt suspense, curiosity and amusement. But I had not for one moment felt engaged in the love between the protagonists. I had cried no tears for Meg Ryan or Meryl Streep or Deborah Kerr or Vivien Leigh or Julia Roberts. I could not lie about so important a matter. ‘According to your definition, no.’ Rosie looked extremely unhappy. The evening had turned into a disaster. 'I thought my behaviour would make you happy, and instead it’s made you sad.’ ‘I’m upset because you can’t love me. Okay?’ This was worse! She wanted me to love her. And I was incapable. Gene and Claudia offered me a lift home, but I did not want to continue the conversation. I started walking, then accelerated to a jog. It made sense to get home before it rained. It also made sense to exercise hard and put the restaurant behind me as quickly as possible. The new shoes were workable, but the coat and tie were uncomfortable even on a cold night. I pulled off the jacket, the item that had made me temporarily acceptable in a world to which I did not belong, and threw it in a rubbish bin. The tie followed. On an impulse I retrieved the Daphne from the jacket and carried it in my hand for the remainder of the journey. There was rain in the air and my face was wet as I reached the safety of my apartment.

Other than that , he knew scarcely anyone well, nor they him. Gypsies make difficult friends for ordinary people, and he was something of a gypsy. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another. Analysis destroys wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole. If you look at their pieces, they go away. And he whispered to her, I have one thing to say, one thing only, I´ll never say it another time, to anyone, and I ask you to remember it: In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live. Since he had driven away from her .., she realized, in spite of how much she thought she´d care for him then, she had nonetheless badly underestimated her feelings. That didn´t seem possible, but it was true. She had begun to understand what he already understood.

One of his high school teachers wrote the following in an evaluation of him: "He believes that 'IQ tests are a poor way to judge people's abilities, failing as they do to account for magic, which has its own importance, both by itself and as a complement to logic,' I suggest a conference with his parents.' (pg. 11)

Не че не ценеше физическата красота, ала за него важни бяха само натрупаните с житейския опит интелигентност и плам, способността да се вълнуваш и да вълнуваш с изтънчен дух и ум. Ето защо повечето млади жени, колкото и красиви да бяха, не го привличаха. Те не бяха живели достатъчно дълго, за да притежават качествата, които го интересуваха.

رویاهای قدیمی رویاهای خوبی بودند به واقعیت درنیامدند اما به هر حال خوشحالم که داشتمشان

Com o passar do tempo [Robert] começou a compreender que era essa luz que fotografava, e não objectos. Os objectos eram apenas veículos para reflectir a luz.

Como duas aves solitárias sobrevoando as imensas pradarias por vontade divina, todos estes anos e vidas avançámos ao encontro um do outro.

Estamos a desistir da liberdade (...) e com a perda da liberdade, o cowboy desaparece, juntamente com o leão da montanha e o lobo cinzento.

I gave my life to my family, I wish to give Robert what is left of me.

They were good friends, though they would never understand what lay inside of her, would not understand even if she told them.

Las palabras provocan sensaciones físicas, no solamente transmiten significados

Ти - те, що сам твориш.

أعلم ذلك الآن. لقد ظللتُ أسقط من فوق حافة مكان عالٍ وهائل، منذ موضع ما في الماضي، وعلى مدى سنين أكثر عددًا مما قد عشته في هذه الحياة. وخلال كل تلك السنين، ظللتُ أسقط نحوكِ أنتِ.

في عالم ممتلئ بالغموض، إن هذا النوع من اليقين لا يأتي إلا مرة واحدة فقط، ولا يتكرر أبدًا، ولو عاش المرء أعمارًا فوق عمره.

The old dreams were good dreams; they didn't work out, but I'm glad I had them..

Iowans have their faults, but one of them is not lack of caring.

تحلیل کردن تمامیت ها را خراب می کند، بعضی چیزها، چیزهای سحرآمیز باید به صورت یک تمامیت باقی بمانند. اگر به جزئیاتشان نگاه کنی از بین می روند

رویاهای قدیمی رویاهای خوبی بودند. به واقعیت در نیامدند، اما به هر حال خوشحالم که داشتمشان

In an increasingly callous world, we all exist with our own carapaces of scabbed-over sensibilities. Where great passion leaves off and mawkishness begins, I’m not sure. But our tendency to scoff at the possibility of the former and to label genuine and profound feelings as maudlin makes it difficult to enter the realm of gentleness required to understand the story of Francesca Johnson and Robert Kincaid.

Enemy of the American people,” in President Trump’s phrase? We are the American people. Journalists bring vitality to the national conversation. We bridge differences, serve public safety, expose corruption, constrain power and give voice to the voiceless. As Madison might say today, Freedom of the Press is the right that guarantees all the others. The stakes are high. Become a journalist. We’d be proud to have you.

..there's a creature inside of you that I'm not good enough to bring out, not strong enough to reach. I sometimes have the feeling you've been here a long time, more than one lifetime, and that you've dwelt in private places none of the rest of us has even dreamed about. You frighten me, even though you're gentle with me. If I didn't fight to control myself with you, I feel like I might lose my center and never get back.

وكم بكي يا رجل بينما يتحدث عنها! بكي بدموع كبيرة، بتلك الدموع التي لا يبكيها إلا رجل مُسن، ولا يعزفها إلا ساكسفون.. وكم بدأت أحب هذا الرجل، في الحقيقة؛ أي شخص يقدر أن يحمل هذه المشاعر لامرأة فهو نفسه يستحق أن يُحَب

They separated a few months after that Sunday. Karine regretted for a long time having rented The Bridges of Madison County. And, unlike Gabriel, she never watched it again, despite its numerous showings on television.

Francesca não respondeu, intrigada com aquele homem (...) que tocava viola, que ganhava a vida com imagens e carregava o equipamento em mochilas. Que era como o vento. E que se movia como o vento. Que talvez viesse dele.

A mãe teve reuniões com vários professores. (...) «Robert vive num mundo construído por ele. Eu sei que ele é meu filho, mas por vezes tenho a sensação de que ele veio não de mim e do meu marido, mas de algum outro lugar para onde tenta voltar. (...)»

A mãe teve reuniões com vãrios professores. (...) «Robert vive num mundo construído por ele. Eu sei que ele é meu filho, mas por vezes tenho a sensação de que ele veio não de mim e do meu marido, mas de algum outro lugar para onde tenta voltar (...)»".

A mãe teve reuniões com vários professores. (...) «Robert vive num mundo construído por ele, Eu sei que ele é meu filho, mas por vezes tenho a sensação de que ele veio não de mim e do meu marido, mas de algum outro lugar para onde tenta voltar. (...)».

As pessoas de Madison County não falavam assim, sobre aquelas coisas. Falavam sobre o tempo, sobre os produtos agrícolas, dos recém-nascidos e dos enterros, dos programas do Governo e das equipas desportivas. Não da arte e dos sonhos. Não das realidades que silenciavam a música, e encerravam os sonhos dentro de uma caixa.

Amava le parole e le immagini. "Blu" era uno dei vocaboli che pridiligeva. Gli piaceva la sensazione che provava sulle labbra e sulla lingua quando lo pronunciava. Le parole avevano una loro fisicità, non si limitavano a significare qualcosa, ricordava di aver pensato da giovane. Apprezzava anche altre parole, quali "distante", "fumo di legna", "superstrada", "antico", "passaggio", "viaggiatore" e "India", per il loro suono, il loro sapore e per le immagini che evocavano nella sua mente. Teneva affissi nella sua stanza gli elenchi delle parole che amava di più. Poi aveva raggruppato le parole in frasi e aveva affisso anche quelle: Troppo vicino al fuoco. Giunsi dall'est con un gruppetto di viaggiatori. Il costante cinguettio di coloro che volevano salvarmi e di coloro che volevano vedermi. Talismano, talismano, mostrami i tuoi segreti. Timoniere, timoniere, conducimi a casa. Sdraiato nudo là dove nuotano le balene azzurre. Lei gli augurò treni a vapore che partivano da stazioni invernali. Prima di diventare uomo, fui freccia, tanto tempo fa. [...] Con il tempo, i fogli coperti di parole, frasi e luoghi avevano finito per coprire completamente le pareti della stanza.

E por fim descobria o significado de todas as pequenas pegadas em todas as praias desertas por onde alguma vez caminhara, e de todas as cargas secretas levadas por navios que jamais haviam navegado, de todos os rostos velados que o viram passar por ruas sinuosas de crepusculares cidades. E, como um grande caçador de outros tempos que tivesse viajado em terras distantes e agora visse o brilho das fogueiras da sua pátria, a sua solidão desvaneceu-se. Finalmente. (...) Vinha de tão longe...

September 10, 1965 Dear Francesca, Enclosed are two photographs. One is the shot I took of you in the pasture at sunrise. I hope you like it as much as I do. The other is of Roseman Bridge before I removed your note tacked to it. I sit here trolling the gray areas of my mind for every detail, every moment, of our time together. I ask myself over and over, “What happened to me in Madison County, Iowa?” And I struggle to bring it together. That’s why I wrote the little piece, “Falling from Dimension Z,” I have enclosed, as a way of trying to sift through my confusion. I look down the barrel of a lens, and you’re at the end of it. I begin work on an article, and I’m writing about you. I’m not even sure how I got back here from Iowa. Somehow the old truck brought me home, yet I barely remember the miles going by. A few weeks ago, I felt self-contained, reasonably content. Maybe not profoundly happy, maybe a little lonely, but at least content. All of that has changed. It’s clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty humming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another. The road is a strange place. Shuffling along, I looked up and you were there walking across the grass toward my truck on an August day. In retrospect, it seems inevitable—it could not have been any other way—a case of what I call the high probability of the improbable. So here I am walking around with another person inside of me. Though I think I put it better the day we parted when I said there is a third person we have created from the two of us. And I am stalked now by that other entity. Somehow, we must see each other again. Any place, anytime. Call me if you ever need anything or simply want to see me. I’ll be there, pronto. Let me know if you can come out here sometime—anytime. I can arrange plane fare, if that’s a problem. I’m off to southeast India next week, but I’ll be back in late October. I Love You, Robert P. S., The photo project in Madison County turned out fine. Look for it in NG next year. Or tell me if you want me to send a copy of the issue when it’s published. Francesca Johnson set her brandy glass on the wide oak windowsill and stared at an eight-by-ten black-and-white photograph of herself.

Well, I hate it. Boy, do I hate it,” I said. “But it isn’t just that. It’s everything. I hate living in New York and all. Taxicabs, and Madison Avenue buses, with the drivers and all always yelling at you to get out at the rear door, and being introduced to phony guys that call the Lunts angels, and going up and down in elevators when you just want to go outside, and guys fitting your pants all the time at Brooks, and people always—” “Don’t shout, please,” old Sally said. Which was very funny, because I wasn’t even shouting. “Take cars,” I said. I said it in this very quiet voice. “Take most people, they’re crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they’re always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that’s even newer. I don’t even like old cars. I mean they don’t even interest me. I’d rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God’s sake. A horse you can at least—” “I don’t know what you’re even talking about,” old Sally said. “You jump from one—” “You know something?” I said. “You’re probably the only reason I’m in New York right now, or anywhere. If you weren’t around, I’d probably be someplace way the hell off. In the woods or some goddam place. You’re the only reason I’m around, practically.” “You’re sweet,” she said. But you could tell she wanted me to change the damn subject. “You ought to go to a boys’ school sometime. Try it sometime,” I said. “It’s full of phonies, and all you do is study so that you can learn enough to be smart enough to be able to buy a goddam Cadillac some day, and you have to keep making believe you give a damn if the football team loses, and all you do is talk about girls and liquor and sex all day, and everybody sticks together in these dirty little goddam cliques. The guys that are on the basketball team stick together, the Catholics stick together, the goddam intellectuals stick together, the guys that play bridge stick together. Even the guys that belong to the goddam Book-of-the-Month Club stick together. If you try to have a little intelligent—” “Now, listen,” old Sally said. “Lots of boys get more out of school than that.” “I agree! I agree they do, some of them! But that’s all I get out of it. See? That’s my point. That’s exactly my goddam point,” I said. “I don’t get hardly anything out of anything. I’m in bad shape. I’m in lousy shape.” “You certainly are.