Franny and Zooey
Zooey put a hand on each side of the washbowl and leaned his chest forward a trifle, his eyes on the general background of enamel. For all his slightness of body, he looked at that moment ready and able to push the washbowl straight through the floor. “The Four Great Vows,” he said, and, with rancor, closed his eyes. “However innumerable beings are, I vow to save them; however inexhaustible the passions are, I vow to extinguish them; however immeasurable the Dharmas are, I vow to master them; however incomparable the Buddha-truth is, I vow to attain it.’ Yay, team. I know I can do it. Just put me in, coach.” His eyes stayed closed. “My God, I’ve been mumbling that under my breath three meals a day every day of my life since I was ten. I can’t eat unless I say it. I tried skipping it once when I was having a lunch with Le Sage. I gagged on a goddam cherrystone clam, doing it.” He opened his eyes, frowned, but kept his peculiar stance. “How ‘bout getting out of here, now, Bessie?” he said. “I mean it. Lemme finish my goddam ablutions in peace, please.” His eyes closed again, and he appeared ready to have another try at pushing the washbowl through the floor. Even though his head was slightly down, a considerable amount of blood had flowed out of his face.
“I wish you’d get married,” Mrs. Glass said, abruptly, wistfully.
Everyone in the Glass family-Zooey certainly not last was familiar with this sort of non-sequitur from Mrs. Glass. It bloomed best, most sublimely, in the middle of an emotional  flareup of just this kind. This time, it caught Zooey very much off guard, however. He gave an explosive sound, mostly through the nose, of either laughter or the opposite of laughter. Mrs. Glass quickly and anxiously leaned forward to see which it was. It was laughter, more or less, and she sat back, relieved. “Well, I do,” she insisted. “Why don’t you?”
Relaxing his stance, Zooey took a folded linen handkerchief from his hip pocket, flipped it open, then used it to blow his nose once, twice, three times. He put away the handkerchief, saying, “I like to ride in trains too much. You never get to sit next to the window any more when you’re married.”
“That’s no reason!”
“It’s a perfect reason. Go away, Bessie. Leave me in peace in here. Why don’t you go for a nice elevator ride? You’re going to burn your fingers, incidentally, if you don’t put out that goddam cigarette.”
J. D. Salinger.