The human heart is a lonely hunter-but the search for us southerners is more anguished.
CARSON MCCULLERSBut the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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People, unless they are nilly-willy or very sick, cannot be taken into the hands and be changed overnight into somthing more worth-while and profitable.
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The memories of childhood have a strange shuttling quality, and areas of darkness ring the spaces of light.
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I live with the people I create and it has always made my essential loneliness less keen.
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But you haven’t never loved God nor even nair person. You hard and tough as cowhide. But just the same I knows you. This afternoon you going to roam all over the place without never being satisfied.
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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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But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes.
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There’s nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.
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The writer must hew the phantom rock.
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This music was her-the real plain her…This music did not take a long time or a short time. It did not have anything to do with time going by at all. She sat with her arms around her legs, biting her salty knee very hard.
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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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To find some lasting comfort in the arms of anothers fire…driven by a desperate hunger to the arms of a neon light, the heart is a lonely hunter when there’s no sign of love in sight!
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The people dreamed and fought and slept as much as ever. And by habit they shortened their thoughts so that they would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.
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She stood in front of the mirror a long time, and finally decided she either looked like a sap or else she looked very beautiful. One or the other.
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She was afraid of these things that made her suddenly wonder who she was, and what she was going to be in the world, and why she was standing at that minute, seeing a light, or listening, or staring up into the sky: alone.
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Comparing the Brooklyn that I know with Manhattan is like comparing a comfortable and complacent duenna to her more brilliant and neurotic sister.
CARSON MCCULLERS