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It is not my experience that life’s difficulties make people more charitable.

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
Life
People
Charitable
Difficulties
Difficulty
Experience
Make

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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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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 were watching, out there past men's knowing, where stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.
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She was gone and the coldness of it was her final gift.
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If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?
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The trouble with a liar is he can't remember what he said.
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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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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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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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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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I can normally tell how intelligent a man is by how stupid he thinks I am.
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The blackness he woke to on those nights was sightless and impenetrable. A blackness to hurt your ears with listening. Often he had to get up. No sound but the wind in the trees. He rose and stood tottering in that cold autistic dark with his arms outheld for balance while the vestibular calculations in his skull cranked out their reckonings.
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The world could only be known as it existed in men's hearts. For while it seemed a place which contained men it was in reality a place contained within them.
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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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Do you think that your fathers are watching? That they weigh you in their ledgerbook? Against what? There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.
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The man watched him. Real life is pretty bad? What do you think? Well, I think we're still here. A lot of bad things have happened but we're still here. Yeah. You don't think that's so great. It's okay.
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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.
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Dying ain't in people's plans, is it?
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What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.
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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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