But no value has been put on human life; it is given to us free and taken without being paid for. What is it worth?
CARSON MCCULLERS
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter had such an illumination, beginning my long search for the truth of the story and flashing light into the long two years ahead.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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But no value has been put on human life; it is given to us free and taken without being paid for. What is it worth?
CARSON MCCULLERS -
I have never gone to a doctor in my adult life, feeling instinctively that doctors meant either cutting or, just as bad, diet.
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Day and night she had drudged and struggled and thrown her soul into her work, and there was not much of her left over for anything else.
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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 closest thing to being cared for is to care for someone else.
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Love of another individual opens a new relation between the personality and the world. The lover responds in a new way to nature and may even write poetry.
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Love is the main generator of all good writing… Love, passion, compassion, are all welded together.
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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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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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We are homesick most for the places we have never known.
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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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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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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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She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud. Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram fall of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house.
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The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen… Now that it was over there was only her heart beating like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.
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The writer is by nature a dreamer – a conscious dreamer.
CARSON MCCULLERS