Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.
CORMAC MCCARTHYHe said that those who have endured some misfortune will always be set apart but that it is just that misfortune which is their gift and which is their strength.
More Cormac McCarthy Quotes
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There is for a man two things in life that are very important, head and shoulders above everything else. Find work you like, and find someone to live with you like. Very few people get both.
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You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.
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Long before morning I knew that what I was seeking to discover was a thing I’d always known. That all courage was a form of constancy. That it is always himself that the coward abandoned first. After this all other betrayals come easily.
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But there are no absolutes in human misery and things can always get worse.
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Anything that doesn’t take years of your life and drive you to suicide hardly seems worth doing.
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Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot be fled nor hid from.
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You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.
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The frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night. The last instance of a thing takes the class with it. Turns out the light and is gone. Look around you. Ever is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That ever is no time at all.
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We think we are the victims of time. In reality, the way of the world isn’t fixed anywhere. How could that be possible? We are our own journey. And therefore we are time as well. We are the same. Fugitive. Inscrutable. Ruthless.
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There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road there to.
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How surely are the dead beyond death. Death is what the living carry with them. A state of dread, like some uncanny foretaste of a bitter memory. But the dead do not remember and nothingness is not a curse. Far from it.
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There is no God and we are his prophets.
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And perhaps beyond those shrouded swells another man did walk with another child on the dead gray sands. Slept but a sea apart on another beach among the bitter ashes of the world or stood in their rags lost to the same indifferent sun.
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Remember her hair in the morning before it was pinned, black, rampant, savage with loveliness. As if she slept in perpetual storm.
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I’ve seen the meanness of humans till I don’t know why God ain’t put out the sun and gone away.
CORMAC MCCARTHY