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.
CARSON MCCULLERSComparing the Brooklyn that I know with Manhattan is like comparing a comfortable and complacent duenna to her more brilliant and neurotic sister.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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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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Once you have lived with another, it is a great torture to have to live alone.
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It is music that causes the heart to broaden and the listener to grow cold with ecstasy and fright.
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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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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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Writing, for me, is a search for God.
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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.
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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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There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.
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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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The writer is by nature a dreamer – a conscious dreamer.
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Resentment is the most precious flower of poverty.
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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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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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There’s nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.
CARSON MCCULLERS