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.
CARSON MCCULLERSBut look what the Church has done to Jesus during the last two thousand years. What they have made of Him. How they have turned every word He spoke for their own vile ends. Jesus would be framed and in jail if he was living today.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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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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Being human, she suffered from this lack and did what she could to make up for it. If she passed the evening bent over a table in the library and later declared that she had spent that time playing cards, it was as though she had managed to do both those things.
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There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries.
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We no longer fear the age-old haunting questions: “Who am I?” “Why am I?” “Where am I going?” – and having cast out fear, we can be honest and charitable.
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The thinking mind is best controlled by the imagination.
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The human heart is a lonely hunter-but the search for us southerners is more anguished.
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Sometimes this fellow’s music was like little colored pieces of crystal candy, and other times it was the softest, saddest thing she had ever imagined about.
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The value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.
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Don’t you loathe it when doctors use the word ‘we’ when it applies only and solely to yourself?
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It was like she was cheated. Only nobody had cheated her. So there was nobody to take it out on. However, just the same she had that feeling. Cheated.
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The bewildered soul can answer only: “Since I do not understand ‘Who I am,’ I only know what I am not.” The corollary of this emotional incertitude is snobbism, intolerance and racial hate.
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I was like a cat always climbing the wrong tree.
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This fear is one of the horrors of an author’s life. Where does work come from? What chance, what small episode will start the chain of creation?
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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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The trouble with me is that for a long time I have just been an I person.
CARSON MCCULLERS