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This is my child, he said. I wash a dead man's brains out of his hair. That is my job.
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
Child
Jobs
Children
Men
Wash
Brains
Hair
Dead
Brain
More quotes by Cormac McCarthy
Ever step you take is forever.
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The wind sounded of Mother Earth's forsaken and abandoned cries.
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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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Men have in their minds a picture of how the world will be. How they will be in that world. The world may be many different ways for them but there is one world that will never be and that is the world they dream of.
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I felt early on I wasn't going to be a respectable citizen.
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in dreams it is often the case that the greatest extravagances seem bereft of their power to astonish and the most improbable chimeras seem commonplace.
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It's the tide. It's the dismal tide. It's not the one thing.
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It starts when you begin to overlook good manners. Any time you quit hearing Sir and Mam the end is pretty much in sight.
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There was a sharp crack from somewhere on the mountain. Then another. It's just a tree falling, he said. It's okay. The boy was looking at the dead roadside trees. It's okay, the man said. All the trees in the world are going to fall sooner or later. But not on us.
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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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The night sky lies so sprent with stars that there is scarcely space of black at all and they fall all night in bitter arcs and it is so that their numbers are no less.
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I can normally tell how intelligent a man is by how stupid he thinks I am.
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In the spring or warmer weather when the snow thaws in the woods the tracks of winter reappear on slender pedestals and the snow reveals in palimpsest old buried wanderings, struggles, scenes of death. Tales of winter brought to light again like time turned back upon itself.
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The jagged mountains were pure blue in the dawn and everywhere birds twittered and the sun when it rose caught the moon in the west so that they lay opposed to each other across the earth, the sun whitehot and the moon a pale replica, as if they were the ends of a common bore beyond whose terminals burned worlds past all reckoning.
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What man is such a coward he would not rather fall once than remain forever tottering?
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Keep a little fire burning however small, however hidden.
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Pain for the old was no longer a surprise.
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There's hard lessons in this world. What's the hardest? I dont know. Maybe it's just that when things are gone they're gone. They aint comin back.
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If you dont respect me what must you think of yourself?
Cormac McCarthy
If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?
Cormac McCarthy
