I couldn't trust you with it. To do something with it. I don't want anybody talking about me. To say where I was or what I said when I was there. I mean, you could talk about me maybe. But nobody could say that it was me. I could be anybody. I think in times like these the less said the better. If something had happened and we were survivors and we met on the road then we'd have something to talk about. But we're not. So we don't.
Cormac McCarthyThemselves among others, everything in its place. Justified in the world.
Cormac McCarthyLike the great pendulum in its rotunda scribing through the long day movements of the universe of which you may say it knows nothing and yet know it must.
Cormac McCarthyWhen he rose and turned to go back the tarp was lit from within where the boy had wakened. Sited there in the darkness the frail blue shape of it looked like the pitch of some last venture at the edge of the world. Something all but unaccountable. And so it was.
Cormac McCarthyHe couldn't remember where he was. The thought made him smile
Cormac McCarthyThe hundred nights they'd sat up arguing the pros and cons of self destruction with the earnestness of philosophers chained to a madhouse wall
Cormac McCarthyTen thousand dreams ensepulchred within their crozzled hearts.
Cormac McCarthyCreedless shells of men tottering down the causeways like migrants in a feverland.
Cormac McCarthyTag: chilling
The breath of God was his yet, though it pass from man to man through all of time.
Cormac McCarthyIf fate is the law, then is fate also subject to that law? At some point we cannot escape naming responsibility. It's in our nature. Sometimes I think we are all like that myopic coiner at his press, taking the blind slugs one by one from the tray, all of us bent so jealously at our work, determined that not even chaos be outside of our own making.
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