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 MCCULLERSI live with the people I create and it has always made my essential loneliness less keen.
More Carson McCullers Quotes
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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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There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.
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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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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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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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But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes.
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The Heart is a lonely hunter with only one desire!
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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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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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The writer is by nature a dreamer – a conscious dreamer.
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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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Southerners are the more lonely and spiritually estranged, I think, because we have lived so long in an artificial social system that we insisted was natural and right and just – when all along we knew it wasn’t.
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The memories of childhood have a strange shuttling quality, and areas of darkness ring the spaces of light.
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I was like a cat always climbing the wrong tree.
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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 MCCULLERS