Death is the great gamer with a sleeve of tricks.
CARSON MCCULLERSAll men are lonely. But sometimes it seems to me that we Americans are the loneliest of all. Our hunger for foreign places and new ways has been with us almost like a national disease. Our literature is stamped with a quality of longing and unrest, and our writers have been great wanderers.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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Sometimes this fellow’s music was like little colored pieces of crystal candy, and other times it was the softest, saddest thing she had ever imagined about.
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I run these little pieces of myself through her and I come out complete. Now do you follow me?
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This fear is one of the horrors of an author’s life. Where does work come from? What chance, what small episode will start the chain of creation?
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All people belong to a We except me. Not to belong to a We makes you too lonesome.
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All men are lonely. But sometimes it seems to me that we Americans are the loneliest of all. Our hunger for foreign places and new ways has been with us almost like a national disease. Our literature is stamped with a quality of longing and unrest, and our writers have been great wanderers.
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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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All we can do is go around telling the truth.
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Through the lies, she lived vicariously. The lies doubled the little of her existence that was left over from work and augmented the little rag end of her personal life.
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What are the sources of an illumination? To me, they come after hours of searching and keeping my soul ready. Yet they come in a flash, as a religious phenomenon.
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Love is the bridge that leads from the I sense to the We, and there is a paradox about personal love.
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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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To know who you are, you have to have a place to come from.
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I want – I want – I want – was all that she could think about – but just what this real want was she did not know.
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The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
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Next to music beer was best.
CARSON MCCULLERS