The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
CARSON MCCULLERSIt is music that causes the heart to broaden and the listener to grow cold with ecstasy and fright.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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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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The writer is by nature a dreamer – a conscious dreamer.
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I once wrote a story about a writer who could not write anymore, and my friend Tennessee Williams said, ‘How could you dare write that story, it’s the most frightening work I have ever read.’ I was pretty well sunk while I was writing it.
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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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To find some lasting comfort in the arms of anothers fire…driven by a desperate hunger to the arms of a neon light, the heart is a lonely hunter when there’s no sign of love in sight!
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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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We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.
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But you haven’t never loved God nor even nair person. You hard and tough as cowhide. But just the same I knows you. This afternoon you going to roam all over the place without never being satisfied.
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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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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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Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them.
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Next to music beer was best.
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Nothing 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.
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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 want – I want – I want – was all that she could think about – but just what this real want was she did not know.
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