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 MCCULLERSBut 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 MCCULLERSShe 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.
CARSON MCCULLERSDay 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.
CARSON MCCULLERSI think we look for the differences in people because it makes us less lonely.
CARSON MCCULLERSIt was like she was cheated. Only nobody had cheated her. So there was nobody to take it out on. However, just the same she had that feeling. Cheated.
CARSON MCCULLERSImagination takes humility, love and great courage.
CARSON MCCULLERSThe 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.
CARSON MCCULLERSThe beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved.
CARSON MCCULLERSThe bewildered soul can answer only: “Since I do not understand ‘Who I am,’ I only know what I am not.” The corollary of this emotional incertitude is snobbism, intolerance and racial hate.
CARSON MCCULLERSI have more to say than Hemingway, and God knows, I say it better than Faulkner.
CARSON MCCULLERSMaybe it was a thing that could not be spoken with words or writing. Maybe he would have to let her understand this in a different way. That was the feeling she had with him.
CARSON MCCULLERSThe most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone.
CARSON MCCULLERSA seed grows in writing as in nature. The seed of the idea is developed by both labor and the unconscious, and the struggle that goes on between them.
CARSON MCCULLERSThe curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many.
CARSON MCCULLERSNothing is so musical as the sound of pouring bourbon for the first drink on a Sunday morning. Not Bach or Schubert or any of those masters.
CARSON MCCULLERSA writer soon discovers he has no single identity but lives the lives of all the people he creates and his weathers are independent of the actual day around him.
CARSON MCCULLERS