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While Time, The endless idiot, runs screaming round the world.
Carson McCullers
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Carson McCullers
Age: 50 †
Born: 1917
Born: February 19
Died: 1967
Died: September 29
Film Writer
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
Screenwriter
Writer
Columbus
Georgia
Lula Carson Smith
Carson McCullers
Running
Time
World
Screaming
Runs
Idiot
Round
Endless
More quotes by Carson McCullers
I have never gone to a doctor in my adult life, feeling instinctively that doctors meant either cutting or, just as bad, diet.
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Death is the great gamer with a sleeve of tricks.
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There was hope in him, and soon perhaps the outline of his journey would take form.
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I do not have any home. So why should I be homesick?
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Coming down was the hardest part of any climbing.
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The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone.
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We are homesick most for the places we have never known.
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In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone.
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Love is a joint experience between two persons -- but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved.
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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?
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There are all these people here I don't know by sight or by name. And we pass alongside each other and don't have any connection. And they don't know me and I don't know them. And now I'm leaving town and there are all these people I will never know.
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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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A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lillies of the swamp.
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I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.
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The value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.
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Her face felt like it was scattered in pieces and she could not keep it straight. The feeling was a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it was like that. I want--I want--I want--was all that she could think about--but just what this real want was she did no know.
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The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
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But all the time-no matter what she was doing-there was music.
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The music left only this bad hurt in her, and a blankness. She could not remember any of the symphony, not even the last few notes. She tried to remember, but no sound at all came to her. Now that it was over there was only her heart like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.
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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.
Carson McCullers
