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His own life seemed so solitary, a fragile column supporting nothing amidst the wreckage of the years.

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
Seemed
Nothing
Wreckage
Years
Amidst
Life
Column
Columns
Supporting
Solitary
Fragile

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The writer is by nature a dreamer - a conscious dreamer.
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The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
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the way i need you is a loneliness i cannot bear.
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Doctors, by God washing their hands, looking out windows, fiddling with dreadful things while you are stretched out on a table or half undressed on a chair.
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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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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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The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone.
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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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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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But all the time-no matter what she was doing-there was music.
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I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.
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I think we look for the differences in people because it makes us less lonely.
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While Time, The endless idiot, runs screaming round the world.
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The writer must hew the phantom rock.
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The writer by nature of his profession is a dreamer and a conscious dreamer. He must imagine, and imagination takes humility, love and great courage. How can you create a character without live and the struggle that goes with love?
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I was like a cat always climbing the wrong tree.
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The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
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There was hope in him, and soon perhaps the outline of his journey would take form.
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The memories of childhood have a strange shuttling quality, and areas of darkness ring the spaces of light. The memories of childhood are like clear candles in an acre of night, illuminating fixed scenes from surrounding darkness.
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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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