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And the dreams so rich in color. How else would death call you? Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to ash instantly. Like certain ancient frescoes entombed for centuries suddenly exposed to the day.

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
Would
Cold
Waking
Like
Century
Exposed
Rich
Dawn
Call
Suddenly
Death
Ancient
Entombed
Else
Turned
Instantly
Dream
Dreams
Ashes
Certain
Color
Centuries

More quotes by Cormac McCarthy

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Just take me with you. Please. I cant. Please, Papa. I cant. I cant hold my son dead in my arms. I thought I could but I cant.
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Usually, you don't know where a book comes from ... it's just there, some kind of an itch that you can't quite scratch.
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The world to come must be composed of what is past. No other material is at hand.
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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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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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Dying ain't in people's plans, is it?
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You go back home and everything you wished was different is still the same and everything you wished was the same is different.
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Maybe. Anyway, some men get what they want. No man. Or perhaps only briefly so as to lose it. Or perhaps only to prove to the dreamer that the world of his longing made real is no longer that world at all.
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It is personal. That's what an education does. It makes the world personal.
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Your heart's desire is to be told some mystery. The mystery is that there is no mystery.
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People apparently only read mystery stories of any length. With mysteries, the longer the better, and people will read any damn thing. But the indulgent, 800-page books that were written a hundred years ago are just not going to be written anymore, and people need to get used to that.
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You give up the world line by line. Stoically. And then one day you realize that your courage is farcical. It doesn't mean anything. You've become an accomplice in your own annihilation and there is nothing you can do about it. Everything you do closes a door somewhere ahead of you. And finally there is only one door left.
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If there's one thing on this planet you don't look like it's a bunch of good luck walkin around.
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Well, I guess in all honesty I would have to say that I never knew nor did I ever hear of anybody that money didnt change.
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He believed in God even if he was doubtful of men's claims to know God's mind. But that a God unable to forgive was no God at all.
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He thought that in the beauty of the world were hid a secret. He thought that the world’s heart beat at some terrible cost and that the world’s pain and its beauty moved in a relationship of diverging equity and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.
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It's the tide. It's the dismal tide. It's not the one thing.
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It is supposed to true that those who do not know history are condemned to repeat it. I don't believe knowing can save us. What is constant in history is greed and foolishness and love of blood.
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Creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways like migrants in a feverland.
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You keep runnin that mouth and I'm goin to take you back there and screw you.
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