The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved.
CARSON MCCULLERSI want – I want – I want – was all that she could think about – but just what this real want was she did not know.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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I think we look for the differences in people because it makes us less lonely.
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To know who you are, you have to have a place to come from.
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I must go home periodically to renew my sense of horror.
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Doctors, by God; washing their hands, looking out windows, fiddling with dreadful things while you are stretched out on a table or half undressed on a chair.
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the way i need you is a loneliness i cannot bear.
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The Heart is a lonely hunter with only one desire!
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If you look around, at times the value may seem to be little or nothing at all. Often after you have sweated and tried and things are not better for you, there comes a feeling deep down in the soul that you are not worth much.
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Next to music beer was best.
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The writer is by nature a dreamer – a conscious dreamer.
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For in a swift radiance of illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and valor. Of the endless fluid passage of the humanity through endless time. And of those who labor and of those who – one word- love. His soul expanded. But for a moment only. For in him, he felt a warning, a shaft of terror.
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The trouble with me is that for a long time I have just been an I person.
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It was like they waited to tell each other things that had never been told before. What she had to say was terrible and afraid. But what he would tell her was so true that it would make everything all right.
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I see a green tree. And to me it is green. And you would call the tree green also. And we would agree on this. But is the colour you see as green the same colour I see as green?
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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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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.
CARSON MCCULLERS