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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
Hands
Also
Self
Flagellation
Whip
Whips
Solely
Intended
Gift
More quotes by Truman Capote
She sounds the way bananas taste.
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Some cities, like wrapped boxes under Christmas trees, conceal unexpected gifts, secret delights. Some cities will always remain wrapped boxes, containers of riddles never to be solved, nor even to be seen by vacationing visitors, or, for that matter, the most inquisitive, persistent travelers.
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Oh Jesus God we did belong to each other. He was mine.
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Any work of art, provided it springs from a sincere motivation to further understanding between people, is an act of faith and therefore is an act of love.
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Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle.
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Still, when all is said, somewhere one must belong: even the soaring falcon returns to its master's wrist.
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With one exception everybody who has ever been involved with me is still a great friend of mine.
Truman Capote
But it's Sunday, Mr. Bell. Clocks are slow on Sundays.
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all his prayers of the past had been simple concrete requests: God, give me a bicycle, a knife with seven blades, a box of oil paints. Only how, how, could you say something so indefinite, so meaningless as this: God, let me be loved.
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A work of art is one of mystery, the one extreme magic everything else is either arithmetic or biology.
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I loved her enough to forget myself, my self pitying despairs, and be content that something she thought happy was going to happen.
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Even an attorney of moderate talent can postpone doomsday year after year, for the system of appeals that pervades American jurisprudence amounts to a legalistic wheel of fortune, a game of chance, somewhat fixed in the favor of the criminal, that the participants play interminably.
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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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I've been working, working, working, and you know, sometimes you look back at your work and you see that it just isn't any good.
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She was a triumph over ugliness, so often more beguiling than real beauty, if only because it contains paradox.
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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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One of the most difficult things in writing a novel or anything at all is to choose the point of view from which it's going to be told.
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The feeble-minded, the neurotic, the criminal, perhaps, also, the artist, have unpredictability and perverted innocence in common.
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I love New York, even though it isn't mine, the way something has to be, a tree or a street or a house, something, anyway, that belongs to me because I belong to it.
Truman Capote