S.e Hinton Quotes

I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.

If you have two friends in your lifetime, you're lucky. If you have one good friend, you're more than lucky.

Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold . . .” The pillow seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died.

It seemed funny to me that the sunset she saw from her patio and the one I saw from the back steps was the same one. Maybe the two different worlds we lived in weren't so different. We saw the same sunset.

They grew up on the outside of society. They weren't looking for a fight. They were looking to belong.

You get tough like me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothin' can touch you...

Can you see the sunset real good on the West side? You can see it on the East side too.

Things are rough all over.

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.

It's okay. We aren't in the same class. Just don't forget that some of us watch the sunset too.

He died violent and young and desperate, just like we all knew he'd die someday.

Get smart and nothing can touch you.

Things were rough all over, but it was better that way. That way you could tell the other guy was human too.

Nothing can wear you out like caring about people.

I am a greaser. 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!

Dally was so real he scared me.

...I knew he would be dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead and he always got what he wanted.

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...

Maybe the two different worlds we lived in weren't so different. We saw the same sunset.

You know what the crummiest feeling you can have is? To hate the person you love the best in the world.

Nothing sparkly can stay.

The difference is that was then, this is now.

I liked my books and clouds and sunsets.

There isn't any real good reason for fighting except self-defense.

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.

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.

I wish I was a kid again, when I had all the answers.

You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows.

You know a guy a longtime, and I mean really know him, you don't get used to the idea that he's dead just overnight.

You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There’s still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don’t think he knows.

why do you like fights Darry~Ponyboy He just likes to show off his muscles~Sodapop

Even the most primite societies have an innate resepect for the insane.

Writer's were supposed to be a litte crazy

I´d rather have anybody´s hate than their pity

They shouldn't hate each other . . . I don't hate the Socs any more . . . they shouldn't hate . . .

Ponyboy, listen, don't get tough. You're not like the rest of us and don't try to be..." What was the matter with Two-Bit? I knew as well as he did that if you got tough you didn't get hurt. Get smart and nothing can touch you... "What in the world are you doing?" Two-Bit's voice broke into my thoughts. I looked up at him. "Picking up the glass." He stared at me for a second, then grinned. "You little sonofagun," he said in a relieved voice. I didn't know what he was talking about, so I just went on picking up the glass from the bottle end and put it in a trash can. I didn't want anyone to get a flat tire.

the person in this picture is really me.

I really do like listening to stuff that's happened to other people. I guess that's why I like to read.

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

You take up for your buddies, no matter what they do. When you're a gang, you stick up for the members. If you don't stick up for them, stick together, make like brothers, it isn't a gang anymore. It's a pack. A snarling, distrustful, bickering park like the Socs in their social clubs or the street gangs in New York or the wolves in the timber.

If we don't have each other, we don't have anything.

They weren't looking for a fight, they were looking to fit in.

That's why people don't ever think to blame the Socs and are always ready to jump on us. We look hoody and they look decent. It could be just the other way around - half of the hoods I know are pretty decent guys underneath all that grease, and from what I've heard, a lot of Socs are just cold-blooded mean - but people usually go by looks.

I made up my mind that I'd get out of that place and I did...I learned that if you want to get somewhere, you just make up your mind and work like hell til you get there. If you want to go somewhere in life, you just have to work till you make it.

I don't know why I go to school unless for kicks, oh well might as well do dissect a frog.

California is like a beautiful wild kid on heroin, high as a kite and thinking she's on top of the world, not knowing she's dying, not believing it even if you show her the marks.

I guess I just couldn't see standing there -- alive, talking, thinking, breathing, being -- one second, and dead the next. It really bothered me. Death by violence isn't the same as dying any other way, accident or disease or old age. It just ain't the same.

...but I've never regretted it. You can't regret experience.

But Dally, heaters kill people! Ya' kill 'em with switchblades to, don'tcha?

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.

We couldn't get along without him. We needed Johnny as much as he needed the gang. And for the same reason.

I could fall in love with Dallas Winston," she said. "I hope I never see him again, or I will.

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.

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...

Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Just don't forget that some of us watch the sunset too.

Anything you read can influence your work, so I try to read good stuff.

Your mother is not crazy. Neither, contrary to popular belief, is your brother. He is merely miscast in a play. He would have made the perfect knight in a different century, or a very good pagan prince in a time of heroes. He was born in the wrong era, on the wrong side of the river, with the ability to do anything and finding nothing he wants to do.

Okay greasers, you've had it.

If you want to see something funny, it's a tough hood sticking his tongue out at his big brother.

He sure put things into words good.

There was a silent moment when everything held its breath, and then the sun rose.

...you don't just stop living because you lose someone. I thought you knew that by now. You don't quit!

What's the safest thing to be when one is met by a gang of social outcasts in an alley? ...No, another social outcast!

...people get hurt in rumbles, maybe killed. I'm sick of it because it doesn't do any good. 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.

You know the rules. No jazz before a rumble.

Some people go, some people stay. I'm staying.

You read a lot, don't you, Ponyboy?” I was startled. “Yeah, why?” “I could just tell. I'll bet you watch sunsets, too.

Y'all were heroes from the beginning. You just didn't 'turn' all of a sudden

Dally didn't die a hero. He died violent and young and desperate, just like we all knew he'd die someday. Just like Tim Shepard and Curly Shepard and the Brumly boys and the other guys we knew would die someday. But Johnny was right. He died gallant.

I have no idea why I write. The old standards are: I like to express my feelings, stretch my imagination, earn money.

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.

I guess he had listened to more beefs and more problems from more people than any of us. A guy that'll really listen to you, listen and care about what you're saying, is something rare.

You can't say, 'This is just a stage' when its important to people what they're feeling. Maybe he'll outgrow it someday but right now it's important.

We're almost as close as brothers; when you grow up in a tight-knit neighborhood like ours you get to know each other real well.

I didn't think much about that statement then. But later I would-I still do. I think about it and think about it until I think I'm going crazy.

Why can I take it when Dally can’t? And then I knew. Johnny was the only thing Dally loved. And now Johnny was gone.

Dally raised the gun, and I thought: You blasted fool. They don’t know you’re only bluffing. And even as the policemen’s guns spit fire into the night I knew that was what Dally wanted. He was jerked half around by the impact of the bullets, then slowly crumpled with a look of grim triumph on his face. He was dead before he hit the ground. But I knew that was what he wanted, even as the lot echoed with the cracks of shots, even as I begged silently—Please, not him . . . not him and Johnny both—I knew he would be dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead and he always got what he wanted.

Johnny died.

Don’t you know a rumble ain’t a rumble unless I’m in it?

You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still a lot of good in the world.

Greaser ' didn't have anything to do with it. My buddy over there wouldn't have done it. Maybe you would have done the same thing, maybe a friend of yours wouldn't have. It's the individual.

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.

Rat race is the perfect name for it,' she said. 'We're always going and going and going, and never asking where. Did you ever hear of having more than you wanted? So that you couldn't want anything else and then started looking for something else to want? It seems like we're always searching for something to satisfy is, and never finding it. Maybe if we could lose our cool we would.

When you're a kid, everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it's a good way to be.

The dawn was coming then. All the lower valley was covered with mist, and sometimes little pieces of it broke off and floated away in small clouds. The sky was lighter in the east, and the horizon was a thin golden line. The clouds changed from gray to pink, and the mist was touched with gold. There was a silent moment when everything held its breath, and then the sun rose. It was beautiful.

I gotta cut smoking or I'll never make track next year

Some are going, some are staying....i'm in between.

A guy that'll really listen to you, listen and care about what you're saying, is something rare.

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the dark movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman, and a ride home. I was wishing I looked like Paul Newman - he looks tough and I don't - but I guess my own looks aren't so bad.

All my life I wanted somebody who knew more than I did to tell me the truth.

Suddenly it wasn't only a personal thing to me. I could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. I could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn't believe you if you did.

Maybe people are younger when they sleep.

Stay gold, Ponyboy

I really couldn't see what the Socs would have to sweat about - good grades, good cars, good girls, madras and Mustangs and Corvairs - Man, I thought, if I had worries like that I'd consider myself lucky. I know better now.

You oughta see Kathy's brother. Now there's a hood. He's so greasy he glides when he walks. He goes to the barber for an oil change, not a haircut.

We saw the same sunset.

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 . . .

Johnny, you don't know what a few months in jail can do to you, man. You get mean in jail, I just don't wanna see that happen to you like it happened to me, man. Understand?"-Dallas Winston

You greasers have a different set of values. You're more emotional. We're sophisticated-cool to the point of not feeling anything. Nothing is real with us.

But we can't be everything we read.

... Hey, I didn't know you didn't like baloney." I went cold. "I don't like it. I never liked it." Soda just looked at me. "You used to eat it. That's why you wouldn't eat anything while you were sick. You kept saying you didn't like baloney, no matter what it was we were trying to get you to eat." "I don't like it," I repeated.

The shade of difference that separates a greaser from a hood wasn't present in Dally.

Socs were just guys after all. Things were rough all over, but it was better that way. That way you could tell the other guy was human too.

It was too late to tell Dally. Would he have listened? I doubted it. Suddenly it wasn't only a personal thing to me. I could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. I could see boys going under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn't believe you if you did. It was too much of a problem to be just a personal thing.

Johnny was the only thing Dally loved. And now Johnny was gone.

In our neighborhood it’s rare to find a kid who doesn’t drink once in a while. But Soda never touches a drop—he doesn’t need to. He gets drunk on just plain living.

Yeah," I said. "And I'm gonna look just like him." The black cat paused and looked me over. "No you ain't baby. That cat is a prince, man. He is royalty in exile. You ain't never gonna look like that.

Juvenile delinquent, you're no good!” Darry shouted.

But I was still lying and I knew it. I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.

Stay gold, Ponyboy, stay gold.

That's why we're separated,'I said. 'It's not money, it's feeling- you don't feel anything, and we feel too violently.

I never noticed colors and and clouds and stuff until you kept reminding me about them. It seems like they were never there before.

I could never understand people being scared of things they didn't know nothing about.

It goes so fast, he thought, they don't tell you that, how fast it goes...

Mace, you never read Smoky the Cowhorse,did you? No. Well,ol' Smoky, he had somebad things happen to him,had the heart knocked clean out of him.But he hung on and came out of it okay.I've been bashed up pretty good,Mason, but I'm going to make it.

No quiero morir ahora. No ha sido suficiente tiempo. Dieciséis años no son suficiente tiempo. No me importaría tanto si no hubiese tantas cosas que no he hecho y tantas otras que no he visto.

I’m what you might call a Pepsi addict.

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.

In the daytime you aren't afraid of anything.

He had strange eyes-they make me think of a two-way mirror. Like you could feel somebody on the other side watching you, but the only reflections you saw was your own.

Race you,” I challenged, leaping up. It was a real nice night for a race. The air was clear and cold and so clean it almost sparkled. The moon wasn't out but the stars lit up everything. It was quiet except for the sound of our feet on the cement and the dry, scraping sound of leaves blowing across the street. It was a real nice night. I guess I was still out of shape, because we all thee tied. No. I guess we all just wanted to stay together.

I don't want to die now. It ain't long enough. Sixteen years ain't long enough. I wouldn't mind it so much if there wasn't so much stuff I ain't done yet and so many things I ain't seen. It's not fair.

Soda was glaring at him. “Leave my kid brother alone, you hear? It ain’t his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain’t his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had been carrying a blade it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons.

I wondered for a long time how to start that theme, how to start writing about something that was important to me. And I finally began like this: 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...

Man, I didnt know anything like that was going to happen! Honest, Tex, he was on something. Holy cow! I really kid, I been doing this stuff for a year now and I never saw nobody pull a gun before! God Almighty! What if he hadnt missed!' -- Lem 'He didn't.' -- Tex 'What?' -- Lem 'I said he didn't miss. He shot me and it hurts like hell.' -- Tex

Well, you're real brave, real stupid, or real lucky.

You get a little money and the whole world hates you." "No," I said, "you hate the whole world.

You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want.

If you have two friends in your lifetime, you're lucky. If you have one good friend, you're more than lucky

Shoot. You got the whole gang. I mean, golly, Johnny, you got the whole gang.” “It ain't the same as having your own folks care about you,” Johnny said simply. “It just ain't the same.

...At least you got Soda. I ain't got nobody.' 'Shoot,' I said, startled out of my misery, 'you got the whole gang. Dally didn't slug you tonight cause you're the pet. I mean, golly, Johnny, you got the whole gang.' 'It ain't the same as having your own folks care about you,' Johnny said simply. 'it just ain't the same.

The way Two-Bit, after the police had taken Dally's body away, had griped because he had lost his switchblade when they searched Dallas. ¨Is that all that's bothering you, that switchblade?¨ a red-eyed Steve had snapped at him. ¨No,¨ Two-Bit had said with a quivering sigh, ¨but that's what I'm wishing was all that's bothering me.¨

Maybe people are younger when they are asleep.

There was a silent moment when everything held its breath, and then the sun rose. It was beautiful.

Somos todo lo que nos queda. Tenemos que ser capaces de seguir unidos, pase lo que pase. Si no nos tenemos los unos a los otros, no tenemos nada.

...no es cuestión de dejar de vivir solo porque hayas perdido a alguien.

I can lie so easily that it spooks me sometimes— Soda says it comes form reading so much. But then, Two-Bit lias all the time too, and he never opens a book.

Lo de greaser no tiene nada que ver con eso. Mi colega, el de allí, quizá no lo hubiera hecho. Quizá tú sí. Y quizá un amigo tuyo no. Es algo individual.

It was cliche, he knew, but he meant it classic.

It would be a miracle if Dally loved anything. The fight for self-preservation had hardened him beyond caring.

You are in love with Sandy?" What's it like?" "Hhhmmm." He sighed happily. "It's real nice.

Need a haircut, greaser?

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

Greaser...greaser...greaser...” Steve singsonged. “O victim of environment, underprivileged, rotten, no-count hood!

Suddenly I realized, horrified, that Darry was crying. He didn’t make a sound, but tears were running down his cheeks. I hadn’t seen him cry in years, not even when Mom and Dad had been killed. (I remembered the funeral. I had sobbed in spite of myself; Soda had broken down and bawled like a baby; but Darry had only stood there, his fists in his pockets and that look on his face, the same helpless, pleading look that he was wearing now.) In that second what Soda and Dally and Two-Bit had been trying to tell me came through. Darry did care about me, maybe as much as he cared about Soda, and because he cared he was trying too hard to make something of me. When he yelled “Pony, where have you been all this time?” he meant “Pony, you’ve scared me to death. Please be careful, because I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.” Darry looked down and turned away silently. Suddenly I broke out of my daze. “Darry!” I screamed, and the next thing I knew I had him around the waist and was squeezing the daylights out of him. “Darry,” I said, “I’m sorry . . .” He was stroking my hair and I could hear the sobs racking him as he fought to keep back the tears. “Oh, Pony, I thought we’d lost you . . . like we did Mom and Dad . . .” That was his silent fear then—of losing another person he loved. I remembered how close he and Dad had been, and I wondered how I could ever have thought him hard and unfeeling. I listened to his heart pounding through his T-shirt and knew everything was going to be okay now. I had taken the long way around, but I was finally home. To stay.

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 sights you want to see.

... I knew he would be dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead and he always got what he wanted.

Johnny's eyes glowed. Dally was proud of him. That was all Johnny had ever wanted.

...no deberíamos de estar separados después de haber trabajado tanto para permanecer juntos.

the whole world hates you.” “No,” I said, “you hate the whole world.

I made a list in my head of people I liked. I do that a lot. It makes me feel good to think of people I like--not so alone.

. . . Darry's gone through a lot in his twenty years, grown up too fast. Sodapop'll never grow up at all. I don't know which way's the best. I'll find out one of these days.

I wonder,” Steve said wildly, “why somebody hasn’t taken a rifle and blown your head off.” "Even the most primitive societies have an innate respect for the insane," the Motorcycle Boy answered.

Johnny was dead. But he wasn't. That still body back in the hospital wasn't Johnny. Johnny was somewhere else—maybe asleep in the lot, or playing the pinball machine in the bowling alley, or sitting on the back steps of the church in Windrixville. I'd go home and walk by the lot, and Johnny would be sitting on the curb smoking a cigarette, and maybe we'd lie on our backs and watch the stars. He isn't dead, I said to myself. He isn't dead. And this time my dreaming worked. I convinced myself that he wasn't dead.

Yessir.

Maybe the two worlds we lived in weren't so different. We saw the same sunset.

He gets drunk on just plain living. And he understands everybody.

We gotta do it for Johnny...Let's do it for Johnny!

She told me she changed that will," the step-father said. "She once told me she married you because she loved you," Mike said. "Guess she lied to us both.

Oh, glory," I said with a groan, "this is all I need to top off a perfect night" I took one last drag on my weed and ground the stub under my heel

... Your back was in flames, that's why!" I was surprised. "It was? Golly, I didn't feel it! It don't hurt.

Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you’ll have Johnny.

Dally is tougher than I am. Why can I take it when Dally can't?

If you're going to lead people, you've got to have somewhere to go.

The difference is,” I said evenly, “that was then, and this is now.

I mean, most parents would be proud of a kid like that - good-lookin' and smart and everything, but they gave in to him all the time. He kept trying to make someone say 'No' and they never did. They never did. That was what he wanted. For somebody to tell him 'No.' To have somebody lay down the law, set the limits, give him something solid to stand on. That's what we all want, really.

He was studying me. ¨You know, you look an awful lot like Sodapop, the way you've got your hair and everything. I mean, except your eyes are green.¨ ¨They ain't green, they're gray,¨ I said, reddening. ¨And I look about as much like Soda as you do.¨ I got to my feet. ¨He's good-looking.¨ ¨Shoot,¨ Johnny said with a grin, ¨you are, too.¨

Hey,” I said suddenly, “can you see the sunset real good from the West Side?” She blinked, startled, then smiled. “Real good.” “You can see it good from the East Side too,” I said quietly.

You're gold when you're a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. [...] There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows.

Darry took a step toward me, but I backed away. “Don't touch me,” I said. My heart was pounding in slow thumps, throbbing at the side of my head, and I wondered if everyone else could hear it. Maybe that's why they're all looking at me, I thought, they can hear my heart beating...

That was the first time I realized the extent of Johnny's hero-worship for Dally Winston. Of all of us, Dally was the one I liked least. He didn't have Soda's understanding or dash, or Two-Bit's humor, or even Darry's superman qualities. But I realized that these three appealed to me because they were like the heroes in the novels I read. Dally was real. I liked my books and clouds and sunsets. Dally was so real he scared me.

He gets drunk on just plain living.

Some of us never cry at al. Like Dally and Two-Bit and Tim Shepard--they forgot how at an early age.

Maybe the two different worlds we lives in weren't so different. We saw the same sunset.

He meant you are gold when you're a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything is new, dawn. It's just. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold.

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.

Darry thinks his life is enough without inspecting other people's

It's okay," I said, wishing I was dead and buried somewhere.

Love ought to be a real simple thing. Animals don't complicate it, but with humans it gets so mixed up it's hard to know what you feel, much less how to say it.

I knew he would be dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead and he always got what he wanted.

He can get drunk in a drag race or dancing without ever getting near alcohol. In our neighborhood it’s rare to find a kid who doesn’t drink once in a while. But Soda never touches a drop—he doesn’t need to. He gets drunk on just plain living. And he understands everybody.

You read a lot, don’t you, Ponyboy?” Cherry asked. I was startled. “Yeah. Why?” She kind of shrugged. “I could just tell. I’ll bet you watch sunsets, too.” She was quiet for a minute after I nodded. “I used to watch them, too, before I got so busy . . .

I like to watch movies undisturbed so I can get into them and live them with the actors. When I see a movie with someone it’s kind of uncomfortable, like having someone read your book over your shoulder.

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.

The major influence on my writing has been my reading. When I was young, I read everything, including cereal boxes and coffee labels. Reading taught me sentence structure, paragraphing, how to build a chapter. Strangely enough, it never taught me spelling.

I'll bet you think the Socs have it made. The rich kids, the West-side Socs. I'll tell you something, Ponyboy, and it may come as a surprise. We have troubles you've never even heard of. You want to know something?" She looked me straight in the eye. "Things are rough all over.

My stomach gave a violent start and turned into a hunk of ice. The world was spinning around me, and blobs of faces and visions of things past were dancing in the red mist that covered the lot. It swirled into a mass of colors and I felt myself swaying on my feet. Someone cried, "Glory, look at the kid!" And the ground rushed up to meet me very suddenly.

It's not just money. Part of it is, but not all. You greasers have a different set of values. You're more emotional. We're sophistocated- cool to the point of not feeling anything. Nothing is for real with us. You know sometimes I'll catch myself talking to a girl-friend, and realise i don't mean half of what I'm saying. I don't really think a beer blast on the river bottom is supercool, but I'll rave about one to a girl-friend just to be saying something.

Ponyboy, I asked the nurse to give you this book so you could finish it. The doctor came in a while ago but I knew anyway. I keep getting tireder and tireder. Listen, I don't mind dying now. It’s worth it. It’s worth saving those kids. Their lives are worth more then mine, they have more to live for. Some of their parents came by to thank me and I know it was worth it. Tell Dally it’s worth it. I'm just going to miss you guys. I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He’ll probably think you're crazy but ask for me. I don't think he's ever really seen a sunset. And don't be so bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows. Your buddy, Johnny

Nobody would write editorials praising Dally. Two friends of mine had died that night: one a hero, the other a hoodlum. But I remembered Dally pulling Johnny through the window of the burning church; Dally giving us his gun, although it could mean jail for him; Dally risking his life for us, trying to keep Johnny out of trouble. And now he was a dead juvenile delinquent and there wouldn't be any editorials in his favor. Dally didn't die a hero. He died violent and young and desperate, just like we all knew he'd die someday.

But that day...well, Soda can't sit still long enough to enjoy a movie, much less a sermon. It wasn't long before he and Steve and Two-Bit were throwing paper wads at each other and clowning around, and finally Steve dropped a hymn book with a bang--accidentally, of course. Everyone in the place turned to look around at us, and Johnny and I nearly crawled under the pews. And then Two-Bit waved at them. I hadn't been to church since.

En el campo… En el campo… Me encantaba el campo. Quería estar lejos de las ciudades, lejos de la excitación. Sólo me apetecía tumbarme de espaldas bajo un árbol y leer un libro o dibujar, y dejar de preocuparme porque me asaltaran, dejar de llevar una faca o terminar casado con alguna fulana como una cabra. Así debía de ser el campo, pensé ensoñadoramente.

I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you're gold when you're a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it's a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He'll probably think you're crazy, but ask for me. I don't think he's ever really seen a sunset...There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows.

bewildering feeling of being rushed, things are happening too quick. Too fast. I figured I couldn’t get into any worse trouble than murder. Johnny and I would be hiding for the rest of our lives. Nobody but Dally would know where we were, and he couldn’t tell anyone because he’d get jailed again for giving us that gun. If Johnny got caught, they’d give him the electric chair, and if they caught me, I’d be sent to a reformatory. I’d heard about reformatories from Curly Shepard and I didn’t want to go to one at all. So we’d have to be hermits for the

I knew he would be dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead and he always got what he wanted. Nobody would write editorials praising Dally. Two friends of mine had died that night: one a hero, the other a hoodlum. But I remembered Dally pulling Johnny through the window of the burning church; Dally giving us his gun, although it could mean jail for him; Dally risking his life for us, trying to keep Johnny out of trouble. And now he was a dead juvenile delinquent and there wouldn't be any editorials in his favor. Dally didn't die a hero. He died violent and young and desperate, just like we all knew he'd die someday. Just like Tim Shepard and Curly Shepard and the Brumly boys and the other guys we knew would die someday. But Johnny was right. He died gallant.

It was too late to tell Dally. Would he have listened? I doubted it. Suddenly it wasn't only a personal thing to me. I could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. I could see boys going under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn't believe you if you did. It was too much of a problem to be just a personal thing. There should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late. Someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then and wouldn't be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore.

were running down his cheeks. I hadn’t seen him cry in years, not even when Mom and Dad had been killed. (I remembered the funeral. I had sobbed in spite of myself; Soda had broken down and bawled like a baby; but Darry had only stood there, his fists in his pockets and that look on his face, the same helpless, pleading look that he was wearing now.) In that second what Soda and Dally and Two-Bit had been trying to tell me came through. Darry did care about me, maybe as much as he cared about Soda, and because he cared he was trying too hard to make something of me. When he yelled “Pony, where have you been all this time?” he meant “Pony, you’ve scared me to death. Please be careful, because I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.” Darry looked down and turned away silently. Suddenly I broke out of my daze. “Darry!” I screamed, and the next thing I knew I had him around the waist and was squeezing the daylights out of him. “Darry,” I said, “I’m sorry . . .” He was stroking my hair and I could hear the sobs racking him as he fought to keep back the tears. “Oh, Pony, I thought we’d lost you . . . like we did Mom and Dad . . .” That was his silent fear then—of losing another person he loved. I remembered how close he and Dad had been, and I wondered how I could ever have thought him hard and unfeeling. I listened to his heart pounding through his T-shirt and knew everything was going to be okay now. I had taken the long way around, but I was finally home. To stay. Chapter 7

But it still hurt anyway. You know a guy a long time, and I mean really know him, you don’t get used to the idea that he’s dead just overnight. Johnny was something more than a buddy to all of us. I guess he had listened to more beefs and more problems from more people than any of us. A guy that’ll really listen to you, listen and care about what you’re saying, is something rare. And I couldn’t forget him telling me that he hadn’t done enough, hadn’t been out of our neighborhood all his life—and then it was too late. I took a deep breath and opened the book. A slip of paper fell out on the floor and I picked it up. Ponyboy, I asked the nurse to give you this book so you could finish it. It was Johnny’s handwriting. I went on reading, almost hearing Johnny’s quiet voice. The doctor came in a while ago but I knew anyway. I keep getting tireder and tireder. Listen, I don’t mind dying now. It’s worth it. It’s worth saving those kids. Their lives are worth more than mine, they have more to live for. Some of their parents came by to thank me and I know it was worth it. Tell Dally it’s worth it. I’m just going to miss you guys. I’ve been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you’re a kid everything’s new, dawn. It’s just when you get used to everything that it’s day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That’s gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He’ll probably think you’re crazy, but ask for me. I don’t think he’s ever really seen a sunset. And don’t be so bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There’s still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don’t think he knows. Your buddy, Johnny.

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