"A Confederacy of Dunces" by John Kennedy Toole, Chapters 1–3

In the shadow under the green visor of the cap Ignatius J. Reilly’s supercilious blue and yellow eyes looked down upon the other people waiting under the clock at the D. H. Holmes department store, studying the crowd of people for signs of bad taste in dress.

The outfit was acceptable by any theological and geometrical standards, however abstruse, and suggested a rich inner life.

“Is it the part of the police department to harass me when this city is a flagrant vice capital of the civilized world?”

“You come with me,” the policeman said to Ignatius with waning self-confidence.

In addition, I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century.

“Thank God my moustache filters out some of the stench. My olfactories are already beginning to send out distress signals.”

The state police stopped him twice for being below the minimum highway speed limit. On the third time that they stopped him they took away his chauffeur's license.

I was appalled that so meaningless a person would dare such effrontery.

You see, I was so overwhelmed by the complete grossness of that spurious ‘chairman’ that I ran from his office in the middle of one of his cretinous ramblings and rushed to the nearest bathroom, which turned out to be the one for 'Faculty Men.'

A young black man, eyeless behind space-age sunglasses, studied the little dossier on the thigh next to his.

“I never eat canned food. I did once, and I could feel my intestines starting to atrophy.”

They probably spread grease on the street after nightfall hoping that motorists like you will spin toward their hovel.

After a period in which the Western world had enjoyed order, tranquility, unity, and oneness with its True God and Trinity, there appeared winds of change which spelled evil days ahead.

Merchants and charlatans gained control of Europe, calling their insidious gospel “The Enlightenment.”

The day of the locust was at hand, but from the ashes of humanity there arose no Phoenix.

The siren, a cacophony of twelve crazed bobcats, was enough to make suspicious characters within a half-mile radius defecate in panic and rush for cover.

The larger houses had become impromptu apartment buildings, their porches converted into additional rooms.

He gave his audience his Mediterranean profile, but the audience saw only a small and sallow figure whose shorts hung clumsily in the crotch, whose spindly legs looked too naked in comparison to the formal garters and nylon socks that hung near the ankles.

The music had a frantic, tribal rhythm; a chorus of falsettos sang insinuatingly about loving all night long.

“I’m sorry,” Patrolman Mancuso said, almost heartbroken over Mrs. Reilly’s financial quandary.

I would like very much to know what the Founding Fathers would say if they could see these children being debauched to further the cause of Clearasil.

This must be the influence of that ludicrous representative of the law. He seems to have turned you against your own child.

“Knowing that you are congenitally incapable of arriving at a decision of this importance, I imagine that that mongoloid law officer put this idea into your head.”

I never suspected that he could be so loquacious or that he was capable of such perceptive comment.

Myrna is still in New York, her native habitat.

Their fear having dissipated itself, the children were holding a competition of shrieking.

I am an anachronism. People realize this and resent it.

“She was there alone,” Patrolman Mancuso said finally, trying to save the interview from becoming a shambles.

He had questioned her about this several times, but had never received a coherent answer.

“Good morning, Miss Trixie,” Mr. Gonzalez called in his effervescent tenor.

Miss Trixie, unfortunately, was hired before the plan went into effect. It was not retroactive, and therefore doesn’t cover her.

An oil magnate is currently dangling thousands before me trying to tempt me to be his personal secretary.

Lana started to make sounds, like the imprecations of a priestess, over the bills that the boy had given her.

I do not wish to suggest, however, that I am disheartened or depressed or defeated.

Mr. Gonzalez, my “boss,” is rather a cretin, but is nonetheless quite pleasant.

As an example of this, Miss Trixie, our Earth Mother of the world of commerce, inadvertently set flame to some important orders in the process of lighting a heater.

I intend to draw Miss Trixie out rather shortly; I suspect that this Medusa of capitalism has many valuable insights and more than one pithy observation to offer.

After she had made one or two bold and unsolicited comments about my person and bearing, I drew Mr. Gonzalez aside to tell him that Gloria was planning to quit without notice at the end of the day.

I'm afraid—from what I know about clinical cases like yours—that you may end up a psychosomatic invalid like Elizabeth B. Browning.

You see, Ignatius, if you would just decide to cut the umbilical cord that binds you to that stagnant city, that mother of yours, and that bed, you could be up here having opportunities like this.