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The world is quite ruthless in selecting between the dream and the reality, even where we will not.
Cormac McCarthy
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Cormac McCarthy
Age: 91
Born: 1933
Born: July 20
Novelist
Playwright
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Providence
Rhode Island
Charles McCarthy
Selecting
Ruthless
Quite
Reality
Dream
Even
World
More quotes by Cormac McCarthy
The rain falls upon the just And also on the unjust fellas But mostly it falls upon the just Cause the unjust have the just's umbrellas
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The trouble with a liar is he can't remember what he said.
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How would you know if you were the last man on Earth? He said. I don't guess you would know it. You'd just be it. Nobody would know it. It wouldn't make any difference. When you die it's the same as if everybody else died too.
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The things that I loved were very frail. Very fragile. I didn't know that. I thought they were indestructible. They weren't.
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He knew only that his child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke.
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Do you know what happens with people who cannot govern themselves? That's right. Others come in to govern for them.
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Keep a little fire burning however small, however hidden.
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All the time you spend tryin to get back what's been took from you there's more goin out the door. After a while you just try and get a tourniquet on it.
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Where men can't live gods fare no better.
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Men believe death's elections to be a thing inscrutable yet every act invites the act which follows and to the extent that men put one foot before the other they are accomplices in their own deaths as in all such facts of destiny.
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In history there are no control groups. There is no one to tell us what might have been. We weep over the might have been, but there is no might have been. There never was.
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Pain for the old was no longer a surprise.
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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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He sat a long time and he thought about his life and how little of it he could ever have foreseen and he wondered for all his will and all his intent how much of it was his doing.
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They spoke less and less between them until at last they were silent altogether as is often the way with travelers approaching the end of a journey.
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Perhaps in the world's destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made. Oceans, mountains. The ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be. The sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular. The silence.
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What business is it of yours where I'm from, friendo?
Cormac McCarthy
Because the question for me was always whether that shape we see in our lives was there from the beginning or whether these random events are only called a pattern after the fact. Because otherwise we are nothing.
Cormac McCarthy
What is it? Nothing. I had a bad dream. What did you dream about? Nothing. Are you okay? No. He put his arms around him and held him. It's okay, he said. I was crying. But you didnt wake up. I'm sorry. I was just so tired. I meant in the dream.
Cormac McCarthy
Things happen to you they happen. They dont ask first. They dont require your permission.
Cormac McCarthy