He 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.
CORMAC MCCARTHYIt’s not about knowing who you are. It’s about thinkin you got there without takin anything with you. Your notions about startin over. or anybody’s. You dont start over. That’s what it’s about. Every step you take is forever. You can’t make it go away. None of it.
More Cormac McCarthy Quotes
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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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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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Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave.
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There is no later. This is later.
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I got what I needed instead of what I wanted and that’s just about the best kind of luck you can have.
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Acts have their being in the witness. Without him who can speak of it? In the end one could even say that the act is nothing, the witness all.
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I think by the time you’re grown you’re as happy as you’re goin to be. You’ll have good times and bad times, but in the end you’ll be about as happy as you was before. Or as unhappy. I’ve knowed people that just never did get the hang of it.
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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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My perfect day is sitting in a room with some blank paper. That’s heaven. That’s gold, and anything else is just a waste of time.
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I can normally tell how intelligent a man is by how stupid he thinks I am.
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You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.
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The wind sounded of Mother Earth’s forsaken and abandoned cries.
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You think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday don’t count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else.
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There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road there to.
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Between the wish and the thing the world lies waiting.
CORMAC MCCARTHY