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When God hands you a gift, he also hands you a whip and the whip is intended for self-flagellation solely.

Truman Capote

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Truman Capote
Age: 59 †
Born: 1924
Born: September 30
Died: 1984
Died: August 25
Actor
Artist
Author
Autobiographer
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
New Orleans
Louisiana
Truman Streckfus Persons
Truman Garcia Capote
Whip
Whips
Solely
Intended
Gift
Hands
Also
Self
Flagellation

More quotes by Truman Capote

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I think the only person a writer has an obligation to is himself. If what I write doesn't fulfill something in me, if I don't honestly feel it's the best I can do, then I'm miserable.
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I also write the last paragraph or page of a story first. That way I always know what I'm working towards.
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I live in Brooklyn. By choice. Those ignorant of its allures are entitled to wonder why.
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I'm very scared, Buster. Yes, at last. Because it could go on forever. Not knowing what's yours until you've thrown it away.
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Most secrets should never be told, but especially those that are more menacing to the listener than to the teller.
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But I'm not a saint yet. I'm an alcoholic. I'm a drug addict. I'm homosexual. I'm a genius.
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I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.
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The instant she saw the letter she squinted her eyes and bent her lips in a tough tiny smile that advanced her age immeasurably. Darling, she instructed me, would you reach in the drawer there and give me my purse. A girl doesn't read this sort of thing without her lipstick.
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All artists are two-headed calves.
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But mostly they were lies I told it wasn't my fault, I couldn't remember, because it was as though I'd been to one of those supernatural castles visited by characters in legends: once away, you do not remember, all that is left is the ghostly echo of haunting wonder.
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A man who doesn't dream is like a man who doesn't sweat. He stores up a lot of poison.
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Hulga the whole while hollering like a half-slaughtered hog. (Attention, students of literature! Alliteration - have you noticed? - is my least vice.)
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To wake up one morning and feel that I was a last a grown-up person, emptied of resentment, vengeful thoughts and other wasteful childish emotions. To find myself, in other words, an adult. Truman Capote
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I like to talk on TV about those things that aren't worth writing about.
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And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.
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Every day is a new day with me. All holds are off. All contracts are forgotten.
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I think I would have written five times as much as I've written if I didn't have this terrible sense of perfection.
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I always felt that nobody was going to understand me, going to understand what I felt about things. I guess that's why I started writing. At least on paper I could put down what I thought.
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I'll never get used to anything. Anybody that does they might as well be dead.
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Oh Jesus God we did belong to each other. He was mine.
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