Goodness will find the little boy. It always has. It will again.
Cormac McCarthyreckon.
Cormac McCarthyThen they set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other's world entire.
Cormac McCarthyPerhaps in the world's destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made. Oceans, mountains. The ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be. The sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular. The silence.
Cormac McCarthyI don't know why I started writing. I don't know why anybody does it. Maybe they're bored, or failures at something else.
Cormac McCarthyTag: writing
In the morning they came up out of the ravine and took to the road again. He'd carved the boy a flute from a piece of roadside cane and he took it from his coat and gave it to him. The boy took it wordlessly. After a while he fell back and after a while the man could hear him playing. A formless music for the age to come. Or perhaps the last music on earth called up from out of the ashes of its ruin. The man turned and looked back at him. He was lost in concentration. The man thought he seemed some sad and solitary changeling child announcing the arrival of a traveling spectacle in shire and village who does not know that behind him the players have all been carried off by wolves.
Cormac McCarthyIf God meant to interfere in the degeneracy of mankind would he not have done so by now? Wolves cull themselves, man. What other creatures could? And is the race of man not more predacious yet?
Cormac McCarthyWhen one has nothing left make ceremonies out of the air and breathe upon them.
Cormac McCarthyThere is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto.
Cormac McCarthyMostra la citazione in tedesco
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Then he just knelt in the ashes. He raised his face to the paling day. Are you there? he whispered. Will I see you at the last? Have you a neck by which to throttle you? Have you a heart? Damn you eternally have you a soul? Oh God, he whispered, Oh God.
Cormac McCarthyTag: god
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