Can you wonder it is so miserable? Do you know how men should love? A tree. A rock. A cloud.
CARSON MCCULLERSDeath is the great gamer with a sleeve of tricks.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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The Heart is a lonely hunter with only one desire!
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Jesus would be framed and in jail if he was living today.
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His own life seemed so solitary, a fragile column supporting nothing amidst the wreckage of the years.
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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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The human heart is a lonely hunter-but the search for us southerners is more anguished.
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Writing, for me, is a search for God.
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A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lillies of the swamp.
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To know who you are, you have to have a place to come from.
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The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone.
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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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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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Maybe 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.
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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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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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In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone.
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I have more to say than Hemingway, and God knows, I say it better than Faulkner.
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We wander, question. But the answer waits in each separate heart – the answer of our own identity and the way by which we can master loneliness and feel that at last we belong.
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Love is the main generator of all good writing… Love, passion, compassion, are all welded together.
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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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The value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.
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And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being loved is intolerable to many.
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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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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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I´m a stranger in a strange land.
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The heart of a hurt child can shrink so that forever afterward it is hard and pitted as the seed of a peach. Or again, the heart of such a child may fester and swell until it is a misery to carry within the body, easily chafed and hurt by the most ordinary things.
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The closest thing to being cared for is to care for someone else.
CARSON MCCULLERS