Stay Gold, Ponyboy, Stay Gold.

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.

Can You See The Sunset Real Good On The West Side? You Can See It On The East Side Too.

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.

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.

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