Quotes from Cormac McCarthy

Then all rode on and none looked back.

White      There's nothing to follow. It's all right. The things that I loved were very frail. Very fragile. I didnt know that. I thought they were indestructible. They werent. Black      And that's what sent you off the edge of the platform. It wasnt nothin personal. White It is personal. That's what an education does. It makes the world personal.

You're not the only one that's right. The ragman looked up warily. We're all right, said Suttree. We're all fucked, said the ragman.

I'm not sure what the adaptive advantage could be to share an innate and collective misery.

No one cares. It's not important. That's where you're wrong my friend. Everything's important. A man lives his life, he has to make that important. Whether he's a small town county sheriff or the president. Or a busted out bum. You might even understand that some day. I don't say you will. You might.

There were times I'd see [my brother] looking at me and I would leave the room crying. I knew that I'd never be loved like that again. I just thought that we would always be together. I know you think I should have seen that as more aberrant than I did, but my life is not like yours. My hour. My day. I used to dream about our first time together. I do yet. I wanted to be revered. I wanted to be entered like a cathedral.

Sutree se detiene junto a una vieja cripta que un árbol ha desmantelado a medias en su crecer. Dentro no hay nada. Ni huesos ni polvo. Como sin duda son los muertos después de la muerte. La muerte es lo que los vivos llevan consigo. Un estado de pánico, como un presagio inquietante de un recuerdo amargo. Pero los muertos no recuerdan, y la nada no es una maldición. En absoluto.

You think that when there's somethin that's got you snakebit you can just walk off and forget it. The truth is it aint even following you. It's waitin for you. It always will be.

It cracked and boomed about and he pointed out the darkened heart within him and cried for light. If there be any art in the weathers of this earth. Or char these bones to coal. If you can, if you can. A blackened rag in the rain. He sat with his back to a tree and watched the storm move on over the city. Am I a monster, are there monsters in me?

Mire, mire! called the man. He was fishing about in his pockets and soon he was juggling four small wooden balls in front of Glanton's horse. The horse snorted and lifted its head and Glanton leaned over the saddle and spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Aint that the drizzlin shits, he said.

It's certainly possible that the imaginary is best. Like a painting of some idyllic landscape. The place you would most like to be. That you never will.

I had trouble with the God thing. A lot of people do.

It is not my experience that life's difficulties make people more charitable.

There's always somebody that doesn't get the word.

She said one time that just because the world was spinning didnt mean that you couldnt get off. There's

It just sounds like superstition to me. And what is that? Superstition? Yes. Well. I guess it's when you believe in things that dont exist. Such as tomorrow? Or yesterday? Such as the dreams of somebody you dreamt. Yesterday was here and tomorrow's comin.

Todo está bien?

One could even say that what endows any thing with significance is solely the history in which it has participated. Yet wherein does that history lie?

He had been shot through the head with a .32 caliber pistol and he was twenty-one years old forever.

At some age you fancy you might rise above these sorts of things and at some age you dont. What is it that were looking for? It's not grace or salvation and it is droll beyond words to imagine that it's love. The ancients claim that there is truth in the grape, God knows I've looked.

Schopenhauer says somewhere that if the entire universe should vanish the only thing left would be music.

Borrower time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it

They used to have names but they dont anymore. The last witness who could have put a name to the faces is boxed up in the ground alongside them and if not nameless as well will soon be so. So. Who are they? The fact that they once walked about in the nomenclative mode is small comfort. Small comfort to whom? Well shit. You just throw up your hands. You dont have to have a name you say. Okay. Dont have to have a name in order to what?

Sheddan once said that evil has no alternate plan. It is simply incapable of assuming failure.