Finally he said that among men there was no such communion as among horses and the notion that men can be understood at all was probably an illusion.
Cormac McCarthyTags: men
There is no forgiveness. For women. A man may lose his honor and regain it again. But a woman cannot. She cannot.
Cormac McCarthyTags: men women forgiveness honor
Men say they only learn this but he said that no creature can learn that which his heart has no shape to hold.
Cormac McCarthySuttree stood among the screaming leaves and called the lightning down. It cracked and boomed about and he pointed out the darkened heart within him and cried for light. If there be any art in the weathers of this earth. Or char these bones to coal. If you can, if you can. A blackened rag in the rain.
Cormac McCarthyIt may be that the life I desire for her no longer even exists, yet I know what she does not. That there is nothing to lose.
Cormac McCarthyand for a moment he held out his hands as if to steady himself or as if to bless the ground there or perhaps as if to slow the world that was rushing away and seemed to care nothing for the old or the young or rich or poor or dark or pale or he or she. Nothing for their struggles, nothing for their names. Nothing for the living or the dead.
Cormac McCarthyI knew that what I was seeking to discover was a thing I'd always known. That all courage was a form of constancy. That it was always himself that the coward abandoned first. After this all other betrayals came easily.
Cormac McCarthyTags: courage
I can normally tell how intelligent a man is by how stupid he thinks I am.
Cormac McCarthyTags: intelligence
For me the world has always been more of a puppet show. But when one looks behind the curtain and traces the strings upward he finds they terminate in the hands of yet other puppets, themselves with their own strings which trace upward in turn, and so on. In my own life I saw these strings whose origins were endless enact the deaths of great men in violence and madness. Enact the ruin of a nation.
Cormac McCarthyHe'd watched a falcon fall down the long blue wall of the mountain and break with the keel of its breastbone the midmost from a flight of cranes and take it to the river below all gangly and wrecked and trailing its loose and blowsy plumage in the still autumn air.
Cormac McCarthyTags: imagery
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