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.
CARSON MCCULLERSThe people dreamed and fought and slept as much as ever. And by habit they shortened their thoughts so that they would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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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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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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But no value has been put on human life; it is given to us free and taken without being paid for. What is it worth?
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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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To know who you are, you have to have a place to come from.
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I have more to say than Hemingway, and God knows, I say it better than Faulkner.
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Comparing the Brooklyn that I know with Manhattan is like comparing a comfortable and complacent duenna to her more brilliant and neurotic sister.
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I think we look for the differences in people because it makes us less lonely.
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Love is the bridge that leads from the I sense to the We, and there is a paradox about personal love.
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People, unless they are nilly-willy or very sick, cannot be taken into the hands and be changed overnight into somthing more worth-while and profitable.
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Love of another individual opens a new relation between the personality and the world. The lover responds in a new way to nature and may even write poetry.
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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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We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.
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I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.
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The people dreamed and fought and slept as much as ever. And by habit they shortened their thoughts so that they would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.
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The writer must hew the phantom rock.
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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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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.
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There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries.
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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 is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.
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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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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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A writer soon discovers he has no single identity but lives the lives of all the people he creates and his weathers are independent of the actual day around him.
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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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Death is the great gamer with a sleeve of tricks.
CARSON MCCULLERS