We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.— Carson Mccullers
The most risky Carson Mccullers quotes that are simple and will have a huge impact on you
We are homesick most for the places we have never known.
The Heart is a lonely hunter with only one desire! To find some lasting comfort in the arms of anothers fire...driven by a desperate hunger to the arms of a neon light, the heart is a lonely hunter when there's no sign of love in sight!
Nothing is so musical as the sound of pouring bourbon for the first drink on a Sunday morning. Not Bach or Schubert or any of those masters.
The writer is by nature a dreamer - a conscious dreamer.
How can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?
The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
Love is a joint experience between two persons -- but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved.
I'm not explaining this right. What happened was this. There were these beautiful feelings and loose little pleasures inside me. And this woman was something like an assembly line for my soul. I run these little pieces of myself through her and I come out complete. Now do you follow me?
The thinking mind is best controlled by the imagination.
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
Southerners are the more lonely and spiritually estranged, I think, because we have lived so long in an artificial social system that we insisted was natural and right and just - when all along we knew it wasn't.
I´m a stranger in a strange land.
She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud.
Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram fall of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house.
Next to music beer was best.
It was like she was cheated. Only nobody had cheated her. So there was nobody to take it out on. However, just the same she had that feeling. Cheated.
Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them.
The trouble with me is that for a long time I have just been an I person.
All people belong to a We except me. Not to belong to a We makes you too lonesome.
It is music that causes the heart to broaden and the listener to grow cold with ecstasy and fright.
After the first establishment of identity there comes the imperative need to lose this new-found sense of separateness and to belong to something larger and more powerful than the weak, lonely self. The sense of moral isolation is intolerable to us.
There's nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.
I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.
What are the sources of an illumination? To me, they come after hours of searching and keeping my soul ready. Yet they come in a flash, as a religious phenomenon. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter had such an illumination, beginning my long search for the truth of the story and flashing light into the long two years ahead.
There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.
All men are lonely. But sometimes it seems to me that we Americans are the loneliest of all. Our hunger for foreign places and new ways has been with us almost like a national disease. Our literature is stamped with a quality of longing and unrest, and our writers have been great wanderers.
She stood in front of the mirror a long time, and finally decided she either looked like a sap or else she looked very beautiful. One or the other.
The most fatal thing a man can do is try to stand alone.
But look what the Church has done to Jesus during the last two thousand years.
What they have made of Him. How they have turned every word He spoke for their own vile ends. Jesus would be framed and in jail if he was living today.
In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone.
Don't you loathe it when doctors use the word 'we' when it applies only and solely to yourself?
The music left only this bad hurt in her, and a blankness.
She could not remember any of the symphony, not even the last few notes. She tried to remember, but no sound at all came to her. Now that it was over there was only her heart like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.
All we can do is go around telling the truth.
Resentment is the most precious flower of poverty.
justice itself is a chimera, a delusion.
Justice is not a flat yardstick, applied in equal measure to an equal situation.
Jesus would be framed and in jail if he was living today.
Death is the great gamer with a sleeve of tricks.
For in a swift radiance of illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and valor. Of the endless fluid passage of the humanity through endless time. And of those who labor and of those who - one word- love. His soul expanded. But for a moment only. For in him, he felt a warning, a shaft of terror.
While time, the endless idiot, runs screaming round the world.
The human heart is a lonely hunter-but the search for us southerners is more anguished.
I see a green tree. And to me it is green. And you would call the tree green also. And we would agree on this. But is the colour you see as green the same colour I see as green?
I live with the people I create and it has always made my essential loneliness less keen.
It is a curious emotion, this certain homesickness I have in mind.
With Americans, it is a national trait, as native to us as the roller-coaster or the jukebox. It is no simple longing for the home town or country of our birth. The emotion is Janus-faced: we are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.
I do not have any home. So why should I be homesick?
I meditated on love and reasoned it out.
I realized what is wrong with us. Men fall in love for the first time. And what do they fall in love with? ...They fall in love with a woman. They start at the wrong end of love. They begin at the climax. Can you wonder it is so miserable? Do you know how men should love? A tree. A rock. A cloud.
There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries.
You don't know what it is to store up a lot of details and then come upon something real.
Because in some men it is in them to give up everything personal at some time, before it ferments and poisons--throw it to some human being or some human idea. They have to.
For fear is a primary source of evil.
And when the question "Who am I?" recurs and is unanswered, then fear and frustration project a negative attitude. The bewildered soul can answer only: "Since I do not understand 'Who I am,' I only know what I am not." The corollary of this emotional incertitude is snobbism, intolerance and racial hate. The xenophobic individual can only reject and destroy, as the xenophobic nation inevitably makes war.
Love is the main generator of all good writing.
.. Love, passion, compassion, are all welded together.