I see a green tree. And to me it is green. And you would call the tree green also. And we would agree on this. But is the colour you see as green the same colour I see as green?
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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I meditated on love and reasoned it out. I realized what is wrong with us. Men fall in love for the first time. And what do they fall in love with? …They fall in love with a woman. They start at the wrong end of love. They begin at the climax.
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The human heart is a lonely hunter-but the search for us southerners is more anguished.
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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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All we can do is go around telling the truth.
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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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I have more to say than Hemingway, and God knows, I say it better than Faulkner.
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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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The xenophobic individual can only reject and destroy, as the xenophobic nation inevitably makes war.
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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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Don’t you loathe it when doctors use the word ‘we’ when it applies only and solely to yourself?
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But 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.
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We are homesick most for the places we have never known.
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We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.
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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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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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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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The curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many.
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Doctors, by God; washing their hands, looking out windows, fiddling with dreadful things while you are stretched out on a table or half undressed on a chair.
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The world is certainty a sudden place.
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The thinking mind is best controlled by the imagination.
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The writer is by nature a dreamer – a conscious dreamer.
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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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All men are lonely. But sometimes it seems to me that we Americans are the loneliest of all. Our hunger for foreign places and new ways has been with us almost like a national disease. Our literature is stamped with a quality of longing and unrest, and our writers have been great wanderers.
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Owing to the fact he was a mute they were able to give him all the qualities they wanted him to have.
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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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The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone.
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