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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.

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
Please
Hold
Dead
Thought
Take
Papa
Cant
Son
Arms

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There is no greater monster than reason.
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Then they set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other's world entire.
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The wrath of God lies sleeping. It was hid a million years before men were and only men have the power to wake it.
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It looks a lot better from up here than it does down there, dont it? Yes. It does. There's a lot of things look better at a distance. Yeah? I think so. I guess there are. The life you've lived, for one. Yeah. Maybe what of it you aint lived yet, too.
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On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world.
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She smiled. I think it's just the snow. I think it makes people stop and think. Bell nodded. I hope it comes a blizzard then.
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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 he loved in horses was what he loved in men, the blood and the heat of the blood that ran them. All his reverence and all his fondness and all the leanings of his life were for the ardenhearted and they would always be so and never be otherwise. (All the Pretty Horses)
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I guess if everybody went crazy together nobody would notice.
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Ever step you take is forever.
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Dying ain't in people's plans, is it?
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He could not construct for the child's pleasure the world he'd lost without constructing the loss as well and he thought perhaps the child had known this better than he.
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The point is there ain't no point.
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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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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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You think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday don't count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else.
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War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.
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There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto.
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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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How surely are the dead beyond death. Death is what the living carry with them. A state of dread, like some uncanny foretaste of a bitter memory. But the dead do not remember and nothingness is not a curse. Far from it.
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