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The music left only this bad hurt in her, and a blankness. She could not remember any of the symphony, not even the last few notes. She tried to remember, but no sound at all came to her. Now that it was over there was only her heart like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.

Carson McCullers

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Bad Blankness Could Even Few Her Hut Last Must Left Note Remember She Symphony

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There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.
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I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.
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As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.
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After the first establishment of identity there comes the imperative need to lose this new-found sense of separateness and to belong to something larger and more powerful than the weak, lonely self. The sense of moral isolation is intolerable to us.
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justice itself is a chimera, a delusion. Justice is not a flat yardstick, applied in equal measure to an equal situation.
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We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.
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The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
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The world is certainty a sudden place.
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We wander, question. But the answer waits in each separate heart – the answer of our own identity and the way by which we can master loneliness and feel that at last we belong.
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The music left only this bad hurt in her, and a blankness. She could not remember any of the symphony, not even the last few notes. She tried to remember, but no sound at all came to her. Now that it was over there was only her heart like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.
CARSON MCCULLERS

Bad Blankness Could Even Few Her Hut Last Must Left Note Remember She Symphony
There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries.
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The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved.
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His own life seemed so solitary, a fragile column supporting nothing amidst the wreckage of the years.
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A fellow can’t live without giving his passive acceptance to meanness. Somebody wears his tail to a frazzle for every mouthful we eat and every stitch we wear-and nobody seems to know. Everybody is blind, dumb, and blunt-headed-stupid and mean.
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The memories of childhood are like clear candles in an acre of night, illuminating fixed scenes from surrounding darkness.
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Can you wonder it is so miserable? Do you know how men should love? A tree. A rock. A cloud.
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