You don’t know what it is to store up a lot of details and then come upon something real.
CARSON MCCULLERSAll 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.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being loved is intolerable to many.
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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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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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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.
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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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The value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.
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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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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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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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You going to traipse all around like you haves to find something lost. You going to work yourself up with excitement. Your heart going to beat hard enough to kill you because you don’t love and don’t have peace. And then some day you going to bust loose and be ruined.
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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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Don’t you loathe it when doctors use the word ‘we’ when it applies only and solely to yourself?
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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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There are corporations worth billions of dollars – and hundreds of thousands of people who don’t get to eat.
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Writing, for me, is a search for God.
CARSON MCCULLERS






