My hand, smoothing oil on her...

My hand, smoothing oil on her skin, seemed to have a temper of its own: it yearned to raise itself and come down on her buttocks. "Give me an example," I said quietly. "Of something that means something. In your opinion."
(73/130p. Penguin Classic, 2022) - P73

"Wuthering Heights ," she said, without hesitation.
The urge in my hand was growing beyond control. "But that‘s unreasonable. You‘re talking about a work of genius."
"It was, wasn‘t it? My wild sweet Cathy . God, I cried buckets. I saw it ten times."
I said, "Oh" with recognizable relief, "oh" with a shameful, rising inflection, "the movie ."
Her muscles hardened, the touch of her was like stone warmed by the sun. "Everybody has to
feel superior to somebody," she said. "But it‘s customary to present a little proof before you take the privilege."
(73/130p. Penguin Classic, 2022) - P73

She sat up on the army cot, her face, her naked breasts coldly blue in the sun-lamp light. - P74

A person in his early fifties with a hard, weathered face, gray forlorn eyes. He wore an old sweat-stained gray hat, and his cheap summer suit, a pale blue, hung too loosely on his lanky frame; his shoes were brown and brandnew. He seemed to have no intention of ringing Holly‘s bell. Slowly, as though he were reading Braille, he kept rubbing a finger across the embossed lettering of her name. - P76

Aprils have never meant much ...

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring; which is how I felt sitting with Holly on the railings of the boathouse porch. I thought of the future, and spoke of the past. Because Holly wanted to know about my childhood. She talked of her own, too; but it was elusive, nameless, placeless, an impressionistic recital, though the impression received was contrary to what one expected, for she gave an almost voluptuous account of swimming and summer, Christmas trees, pretty cousins and parties: in short, happy in a way that she was not, and never, certainly, the background of a child who had run away.
(64/130p. Penguin Classic, 2022) - P64

Holly picked up a mask and slipped it over her face; she chose another and put it on mine; then she took my hand and we walked away. It was as simple as that. Outside, we ran a few blocks, I think to make it more dramatic; but also because, as I‘d discovered, successful theft exhilarates. I wondered if she‘d often stolen. "I used to," she said. "I mean I had to. If I wanted anything. But I still do it every now and then, sort of to keep my hand in." We wore the masks all the way home.
(65/130p. Penguin Classic, 2022) - P65

‘Nobody loves naughtiness.‘ O...

‘Nobody loves naughtiness.‘
Obviously she‘d said what he wanted to hear; it appeared to both excite and relax him. Still he continued, as though it were a ritual: ‘Do you love me?‘ - P48

‘You don‘t love me,‘ he complained, as thought hey were alone. - P48

[오늘의 한문장] Breakfast at Tiffany's

"I‘ve tried that. I‘ve tried aspirin, too. Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a
while, but it only makes me giggle. What I‘ve found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffany‘s. It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany‘s, then I‘d buy some furniture and give the cat a name. I‘ve thought maybe after the war, Fred and I — " She pushed up her dark glasses, and her eyes, the differing colors of them, the grays and wisps of blue and green, had taken on a far-seeing sharpness. "I went to Mexico once. It‘s wonderful country for raising horses. I saw one place near the sea. Fred‘s good with horses."
(47/130p. Penguin Classic, 2022) - P47

But he‘s gota point, I should...

But he‘s gota point, I should feel guilty. Not because they would have given me the part or because I would have been good: they wouldn‘t and I wouldn‘t. If I do feel guilty,
I guess it‘s because I let him go on dreaming when I wasn‘t dreaming a bit. I was just vamping for time to make a few self-improvements: I knew damn well I‘d never be a movie star. It‘s too hard; and if you‘re intelligent, it‘s too embarrassing. My complexes aren‘t inferior enough: being a movie star and having a big fat ego are supposed to go hand-in-hand; actually, it‘s essential not to have any ego at all. I don‘t mean I‘d mind being rich and famous. That‘s very much on my schedule, and some day I‘ll try to get around to it; but if it happens, I‘d like to have my ego tagging along. I want to still be me when I wake up one fine morning and have breakfast at Tiffany‘s. - P45