I must go home periodically to renew my sense of horror.
CARSON MCCULLERSAnd the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being loved is intolerable to many.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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I have never gone to a doctor in my adult life, feeling instinctively that doctors meant either cutting or, just as bad, diet.
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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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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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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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There’s nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.
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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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The world is certainty a sudden place.
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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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A fellow can’t live without giving his passive acceptance to meanness. Somebody wears his tail to a frazzle for every mouthful we eat and every stitch we wear-and nobody seems to know. Everybody is blind, dumb, and blunt-headed-stupid and mean.
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All people belong to a We except me. Not to belong to a We makes you too lonesome.
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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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They are the we of me.
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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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We live in the richest country in the world. There’s plenty and to spare for no man, woman, or child to be in want.
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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.
CARSON MCCULLERS