If there is an occupational hazard to writing, it's drinking.
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And sleep that night on the cold plains of a foreign land, forty-six men wrapped in their blankets under the selfsame stars, the prairie wolves so like in their yammering, yet all about so changed and strange.
Cormac McCarthyHe’s just a good all-around horse. He aint a finished horse but I think he’ll make a cow horse.
I’m pleased to hear it. Of course your preference is for one that’ll bow up like a bandsaw and run head first into the barn wall.
John Grady smiled. Horse of my dreams, he said. It aint exactly like that.
How is it then?
I don’t know. I think it’s just somethin you like. Or don’t like. You can add up all of a horse’s good points on a sheet of paper and it still wont tell you whether you’ll like the horse or not.
What about if you add up all his bad ones?
I don’t know. I’d say you’d probably done made up your mind at that point.
You think there’s horses so spoiled you cant do nothin with em?
Yes I do. But probably not as many as you might think.
Maybe not. You think a horse can understand what a man says?
You mean like words?
I don’t know. Like can he understand what he says.
John Grady looked out the window. Water was beaded on the glass. Two bats were hunting in the barnlight. No, he said. I think he can understand what you mean.
He slept and in his sleep he saw his friends again and they were coming downriver on muddy floodwaters, Hoghead and the City Mouse and J-Bone and Bearhunter and Bucket and Boneyard and J D Davis and Earl Solomon, all watching him where he stood on the shore. They turned gently in their rubber bullboat, bobbing slightly on the broad and ropy waters, their feet impinging in the floor of the thing with membraneous yellow tracks. They glided past somberly. Out of a lightless dawn receding, past the pale daystar. A fog more obscure closed away their figures gone a sadder way by psychic seas across the Tarn of Acheron. From a rock in the river he waved them farewell but they did not wave back.
Cormac McCarthyI think sometimes people would rather have a bad answer about things than no answer at all.
Cormac McCarthyOf such dreams and of the rituals of them there can also be no end. The thing that is sought is altogether other. However it may be construed within men's dreams or by their acts it will never make a fit. These dreams and these acts are driven by a terrible hunger. They seek to meet a need which they can never satisfy, and for that we must be grateful.
Cormac McCarthyWhite pussy is nothin but trouble.
Cormac McCarthyTag: women sex white-people
When I was in school I studied biology. I learned that in making their experiments scientists will take some group - bacteria, mice, people - and subject that group to certain conditions. They compare the results with a second group which has not been disturbed. This second group is called the control group. It is the control group which enables the scientist to gauge the effect of his experiment. To judge the significance of what has occurred. In history there are no control groups. There is no one to tell us what might have been. We weep over the might have been, but there is no might have been. There never was.
Cormac McCarthyThings separate from their stories have no meaning.
Cormac McCarthyThe last thin paring of the old moon hung over the distant mountains to the west. Venus had moved away. With dark a gauzy swarm of stars. He could not guess what they were for so many.
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