The curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many.
CARSON MCCULLERSSometimes 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.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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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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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.
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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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There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.
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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.
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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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We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange.
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I think we look for the differences in people because it makes us less lonely.
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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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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 people dreamed and fought and slept as much as ever. And by habit they shortened their thoughts so that they would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.
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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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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?
CARSON MCCULLERS






