The memories of childhood have a strange shuttling quality, and areas of darkness ring the spaces of light.
CARSON MCCULLERSWe live in the richest country in the world. There’s plenty and to spare for no man, woman, or child to be in want.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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The xenophobic individual can only reject and destroy, as the xenophobic nation inevitably makes war.
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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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They are the we of me.
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Falling in love is the easiest thing in the world. It’s standing in love that matters.
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I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.
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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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Coming down was the hardest part of any climbing.
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I must go home periodically to renew my sense of horror.
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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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Love is the main generator of all good writing… Love, passion, compassion, are all welded together.
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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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We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.
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Once you have lived with another, it is a great torture to have to live alone.
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The heart of a hurt child can shrink so that forever afterward it is hard and pitted as the seed of a peach. Or again, the heart of such a child may fester and swell until it is a misery to carry within the body, easily chafed and hurt by the most ordinary things.
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Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them.
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What are the sources of an illumination? To me, they come after hours of searching and keeping my soul ready. Yet they come in a flash, as a religious phenomenon.
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She was afraid of these things that made her suddenly wonder who she was, and what she was going to be in the world, and why she was standing at that minute, seeing a light, or listening, or staring up into the sky: alone.
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I’m not explaining this right. What happened was this. There were these beautiful feelings and loose little pleasures inside me. And this woman was something like an assembly line for my soul.
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To know who you are, you have to have a place to come from.
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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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Through the lies, she lived vicariously. The lies doubled the little of her existence that was left over from work and augmented the little rag end of her personal life.
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We wander, question. But the answer waits in each separate heart – the answer of our own identity and the way by which we can master loneliness and feel that at last we belong.
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Writing, for me, is a search for God.
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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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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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Death is the great gamer with a sleeve of tricks.
CARSON MCCULLERS