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The small wad of burning paper drew down to a wisp of flame and then died out leaving a faint pattern for just a moment in the incandescence like the shape of a flower, a molten rose. Then all was dark again.

Cormac McCarthy

Stichwörter: unusual desperate hopeful

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He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.

Cormac McCarthy

Stichwörter: reality memories

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So everything is necessary. Every least thing. This is the hard lesson. Nothing can be dispensed with. Nothing despised. Because the seams are hid from us, you see. The joinery. The way in which the world is made. We have no way to know what could be taken away. What omitted. We have no way to tell what might stand and what might fall.

Cormac McCarthy

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Nor does God whisper through the trees. His voice is not to be mistaken. When men hear it they fall to their knees and their souls are riven and they cry out to Him and there is no fear but only wildness of heart that springs from such longing...

Cormac McCarthy

Stichwörter: god

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Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot be fled nor hid from.

Cormac McCarthy

Stichwörter: god

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Wolves cull themselves, man. What other creature could? And is the race of man not more predacious yet?

Cormac McCarthy

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