Nothing is so musical as the sound of pouring bourbon for the first drink on a Sunday morning. Not Bach or Schubert or any of those masters.
CARSON MCCULLERSThe memories of childhood have a strange shuttling quality, and areas of darkness ring the spaces of light.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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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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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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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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I live with the people I create and it has always made my essential loneliness less keen.
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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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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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After the first establishment of identity there comes the imperative need to lose this new-found sense of separateness and to belong to something larger and more powerful than the weak, lonely self. The sense of moral isolation is intolerable to us.
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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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How can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?
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Love is the main generator of all good writing… Love, passion, compassion, are all welded together.
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The xenophobic individual can only reject and destroy, as the xenophobic nation inevitably makes war.
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When a person knows and can’t make the others understand, what does he do?
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I must go home periodically to renew my sense of horror.
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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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A writer soon discovers he has no single identity but lives the lives of all the people he creates and his weathers are independent of the actual day around him.
CARSON MCCULLERS






