Breakfast at Tiffany's

Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,' Holly advised him. 'That was Doc's mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can't give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they're strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That's how you'll end up, Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You'll end up looking at the sky." "She's drunk," Joe Bell informed me. "Moderately," Holly confessed....Holly lifted her martini. "Let's wish the Doc luck, too," she said, touching her glass against mine. "Good luck: and believe me, dearest Doc -- it's better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.

You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

It may be normal, darling; but I'd rather be natural.

The answer is good things only happen to you if you're good. Good? Honest is more what I mean... Be anything but a coward, a pretender, an emotional crook, a whore: I'd rather have cancer than a dishonest heart.

Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot.

I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together.

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.

You know the days when you get the mean reds? Paul Varjak: The mean reds. You mean like the blues? Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat, and maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid, and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes.

You can love somebody without it being like that. You keep them a stranger, a stranger who's a friend.

Home is where you feel at home. I'm still looking.

She was still hugging the cat. "Poor slob," she said, tickling his head, "poor slob without a name. It's a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven't any right to give him one: he'll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don't belong to each other: he's an independent, and so am I. I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together. I'm not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it's like." She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. "It's like Tiffany's," she said. [...] 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.

Never love a wild thing...If you let yourself love a wild thing. You'll end up looking at the sky.

Everybody has to feel superior to somebody," she said. "But it's customary to present a little proof before you take the privilege.

I told you: you can make yourself love anybody.

Don't wanna sleep, don't wanna die, just wanna go a-travellin' through the pastures of the sky

would you reach in the drawer there and give me my purse. A girl doesn't read this sort of thing without her lipstick.

I loved her enough to forget myself, my self pitying despairs, and be content that something she thought happy was going to happen.

Leave it to me: I'm always top banana in the shock department.

Good luck and believe me, dearest Doc - it's better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.

we don't belong to each other: he's an independent, and so am I.

I'm very scared, Buster. Yes, at last. Because it could go on forever. Not knowing what's yours until you've thrown it away.

Reading dreams. That's what started her walking down the road. Every day she'd walk a little further: a mile, and come home. Two miles, and come home. One day she just kept on.

You’re wrong. She is a phony. But on the other hand you’re right. She isn’t a phony because she’s a real phony. She believes all this crap she believes. You can’t talk her out of it.

It should take you about four seconds to walk from here to the door. I'll give you two.

You're wonderful. Unique. I love you.

I'll never get used to anything. Anybody that does they might as well be dead.

Love should be allowed. I’m all for it. Now that I’ve got a pretty good idea what it is.

But it's Sunday, Mr. Bell. Clocks are slow on Sundays.

What I 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.