Quote

Of many magics, one is watching a beloved sleep: free of eyes and awareness, you for a sweet moment hold the heart of him helpless, he is then all, and however irrationally, you have trusted him to be, man-pure, child-tender.

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
Children
Sleep
Beloved
Heart
Eyes
Watching
Men
Child
However
Free
Awareness
Eye
Sweet
Irrationally
Moment
Magic
Tender
Moments
Pure
Helpless
Many
Hold
Trusted

More quotes by Truman Capote

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Before birth yes, what time was it then? A time like now, and when they were dead, it would be still like now: these trees, that sky, this earth, those acorn seeds, sun and wind, all the same, while they, with dust-turned hearts, change only.
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How do I look so young? Quite simple: a complete vegetable diet, 12 hours sleep a night, and lots and lots of make-up.
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I've got something inside of me, peasantlike and stubborn, and I'm in it till the end of the race.
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The problem with living outside the law is that you no longer have its protection.
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I've never worked for a newspaper. I've had some very bad reviews in newspapers.
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A disquieting loneliness came into my life, but it induced no hunger for friends of longer acquaintance: they seemed now like a salt-free, sugarless diet.
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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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our real fears are the sounds of footsteps walking in the corridors of our minds, and the anxieties, the phantom floatings, they create.
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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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Failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor.
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I always write the end of everything first. I always write the last chapters of my books before I write the beginning....Then I go back to the beginning. I mean, it's always nice to know where you're going is my theory.
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Sicily is more beautiful than any woman.
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She took off her dark glasses and squinted at me. It was as though her eyes were shattered prisms, the dots of blue and gray and green like broken bits of sparkle.
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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.
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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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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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That's all a writer has to write about - what he sees and hears and what not.
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At one time I used to keep notebooks with outlines for stories. But I found doing this somehow deadened the idea in my imagination. If the notion is good enough, if it truly belongs to you, then you can't forget it-it will haunt you till it's written.
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I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods.
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A beautiful day with the buoyancy of a bird.
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