It 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 MCCULLERSFor 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.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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Owing to the fact he was a mute they were able to give him all the qualities they wanted him to have.
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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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the way i need you is a loneliness i cannot bear.
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A 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.
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The writer by nature of his profession is a dreamer and a conscious dreamer. He must imagine, and imagination takes humility, love and great courage. How can you create a character without live and the struggle that goes with love?
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Love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved.
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We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.
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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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For fear is a primary source of evil. And when the question “Who am I?” recurs and is unanswered, then fear and frustration project a negative attitude.
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I got to wear blinders all the time so I won’t think sideways or in the past.
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Can you wonder it is so miserable? Do you know how men should love? A tree. A rock. A cloud.
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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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The human heart is a lonely hunter-but the search for us southerners is more anguished.
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There are corporations worth billions of dollars – and hundreds of thousands of people who don’t get to eat.
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Writing, for me, is a search for God.
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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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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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It was better to be in a jail where you could bang the walls than in a jail you could not see.
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As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.
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Wherever you look there’s meanness and corruption. This room, this bottle of grape wine, these fruits in the basket, are all products of profit and loss.
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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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The curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many.
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The writer must hew the phantom rock.
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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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I must go home periodically to renew my sense of horror.
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This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings.
CARSON MCCULLERS