But the address, if it ever existed, never was sent, which made me sad, there was so much I wanted to write her: that I'd sold two stories, had read where the Trawlers were countersuing for divorce, was moving out of the brownstone because it was haunted. But mostly, I wanted to tell about her cat. I had kept my promise; I had found him. It took weeks of after-work roaming through those Spanish Harlem streets, and there were many false alarms--flashes of tiger-striped fur that, upon inspection, were not him. But one day, one cold sunshiny Sunday winter afternoon, it was. Flanked by potted plants and framed by clean lace curtains, he was seated in the window of a warm-looking room: I wondered what his name was, for I was certain he had one now, certain he'd arrived somewhere he belonged. African hut or whatever, I hope Holly has, too.
Truman CapoteThen starting home, he walked toward the trees, and under them, leaving behind him the big sky, the whisper of wind voices in the wind-bent wheat.
Truman CapoteTag: last-sentence
И така, слушай: късно следобеда, когато се събудих, дъждът биеше в прозореца и по покрива: в къщата бродеше някаква тишина и както повечето тишини, изобщо не беше тиха: тя чукаше по вратите, отекваше в часовниците, скърцаше по стълбите, взираше се отблизо в лицето ми и се канеше да експлодира.
Truman CapoteTag: тишина
- Едно време свирех на цигулка - с носталгия каза той, докато гледаше танцуващите пламъци - ...ревматизъм ми открадна цялата музика от пръстите.
Truman CapoteTag: музика
The guitar filled with rain, rain softened the paper sacks, the sacks split and perfume spilled on the pavement, pearls rolled in the gutter: while the wind pushed and the cat scratched, the cat screamed -- but worse, I was frightened, a coward to equal Jose: those storming streets seemed aswarm with unseen presences waiting to trap, imprison me for aiding an outlaw.
Truman CapoteThere is considerable hypocrisy in conventionalism. Any thinking person is aware of this paradox; but in dealing with conventional people it is advantageous to treat them as though they were not hypocrites. It isn't a question of faithfulness to your own concepts; it is a matter of compromise so that you can remain an individual without the constant threat of conventional pressures.
Truman CapoteTag: willie-jay-s-letter
I'm praying for you, Mary. I want you to live forever.
Truman CapoteTag: a-day-s-work-praying
Pero aquella vida, lo que había hecho con ella.-¿Cómo pudo suceder esto?, se preguntaba Erhart mientras veía arder la hoguera. '¿Cómo era posible que tanto esfuerzo, tanta virtud pudiera de la noche a la mañana, haberse reducido a eso?-: humo deshaciéndose al subir y fundirs en el enorme y aniquilante cielo.
Truman CapoteBut we are alone, darling child, terribly, isolated each from the other; so fierce is the world's ridicule we cannot speak or show our tenderness; for us, death is stronger than life, it pulls like a wind through the dark, all our cries burlesqued in joyless laughter; and with the garbage of loneliness stuffed down us until our guts burst bleeding green, we go screaming round the world, dying in our rented rooms, nightmare hotels, eternal homes of the transient heart.
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Her bedroom window overlooked the garden, and now and then, usually when she was "having a bad spell," Mr. Helm had seen her stand long hours gazing into the garden, as though what she saw bewitched her. ("When I was a girl," she had once told a friend, "I was terribly sure trees and flowers were the same as birds or people. That they thought things, and talked among themselves. And we could hear them if we really tried. It was just a matter of emptying your head of all other sounds. Being very quiet and listening very hard. Sometimes I still believe that. But one can never get quiet enough...")
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