Cormac McCarthy Quotes

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  You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Good Luck, Bad Luck, Fortune And Luck

  Cormac McCarthy (2007). “No Country for Old Men”, p.267, Vintage

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• He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Crush, Running, Dog

  Cormac McCarthy (2010). “The Road”, p.138, Pan Macmillan

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• You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Want, Remember, Forget

  Cormac McCarthy (2007). “The Road”, p.10, Vintage

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• Ive seen the meanness of humans till I dont know why God aint put out the sun and gone away.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Gone Away, Sun, Meanness

  Cormac McCarthy (2010). “Outer Dark”, p.192, Vintage

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• The rain falls upon the just And also on the unjust fellas But mostly it falls upon the just Cause the unjust have the just's umbrellas

  Cormac McCarthy

  Fall, Rain, Unjust

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• He stood at the window of the empty cafe and watched the activites in the square and he said that it was good that God kept the truths of life from the young as they were starting out or else they'd have no heart to start at all.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Heart, Squares, Cafes

  Cormac McCarthy (2012). “All the Pretty Horses”, p.291, Pan Macmillan

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• Keep a little fire burning; however small, however hidden.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Inspirational, Attitude, Fire

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• Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Time, Real, Healing

  Cormac McCarthy (2012). “All the Pretty Horses”, p.139, Pan Macmillan

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• Between the wish and the thing the world lies waiting.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Lying, Waiting, Wish

  Cormac McCarthy (2012). “All the Pretty Horses”, p.244, Pan Macmillan

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• You give up the world line by line. Stoically. And then one day you realize that your courage is farcical. It doesn't mean anything. You've become an accomplice in your own annihilation and there is nothing you can do about it. Everything you do closes a door somewhere ahead of you. And finally there is only one door left.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Giving Up, Mean, Doors

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• You can tell it any way you want but that's the way it is. I should of done it and I didn’t. And some part of me has never quit wishin I could go back. And I cant. I didn’t know you could steal your own life. And I didn’t know that it would bring you no more benefit than about anything else you might steal. I think I done the best with it I knew how but it still wasn’t mine. It never has been.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Thinking, Done, Benefits

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• Each leaf that brushed his face deepened his sadness and dread. Each leaf he passed he'd never pass again. They rode over his face like veils, already some yellow, their veins like slender bones where the sun shone through them. He had resolved himself to ride on for he could not turn back and the world that day was as lovely as any day that ever was and he was riding to his death.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Sadness, Yellow, Lovely

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• The man who believes that the secrets of the world are forever hidden lives in mystery and fear. Superstition will drag him down. The rain will erode the deeds of his life. But that man who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry will by the decision alone have taken charge of the world and it is only by such taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Fear, Rain, Believe

  Cormac McCarthy (2015). “Blood Meridian: Picador Classic”, p.152, Pan Macmillan

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• I got what I needed instead of what I wanted and that's just about the best kind of luck you can have.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Luck, Kind, Needed

  Cormac McCarthy (2011). “The Sunset Limited: A Novel in Dramatic Form”, p.46, Pan Macmillan

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• Anything that doesn't take years of your life and drive you to suicide hardly seems worth doing.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Suicide, Years, Seems

  "Hollywood's Favorite Cowboy" by John Jurgensen, www.wsj.com. November 20, 2009.

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• Our enemies ... seem always with us. The greater our hatred the more persistent the memory of them so that a truly terrible enemy becomes deathless. So that the man who has done you great injury or injustice makes himself a guest in your house forever. Perhaps only forgiveness can dislodge him.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Memories, Men, Hatred

  Cormac McCarthy (2013). “The Border Trilogy: Picador Classic”, p.861, Pan Macmillan

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• The man smiled at him a sly smile. As if they knew a secret between them, these two. Something of age and youth and their claims and the justice of those claims. And of their claims upon them. The world past, the world to come. Their common transciencies. Above all a knowing deep in the bone that beauty and loss are one.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Loss, Past, Men

  Cormac McCarthy (2010). “Cities of the Plain: Book 3 of Border Trilogy”, p.85, Vintage

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• If there's one thing on this planet you don't look like it's a bunch of good luck walkin around.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Good Luck, Looks, Bunch

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• From daydreams on the road there was no waking. He plodded on. He could remember everything of her save her scent. Seated in a theatre with her beside him leaning forward listening to the music. Gold scrollwork and sconces and the tall columnar folds of the drapes at either side of the stage. She held his hand in her lap and he could feel the tops of her stockings through the thin stuff of her summer dress. Freeze this frame. Now call down your dark and your cold and be damned.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Summer, Dark, Remembers Everything

  Cormac McCarthy (2007). “The Road”, p.16, Vintage

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• They spoke less and less between them until at last they were silent altogether as is often the way with travelers approaching the end of a journey.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Journey, Way, Lasts

  Cormac McCarthy (2010). “Blood Meridian: Or the Evening Redness in the West”, p.315, Vintage

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• I didn't mean I'd seen everything, John Grady said. I know you didn't. I just meant I'd seen some things I'd as soon not of. I know it. There's hard lessons in this world. What's the hardest? I dont know. Maybe it's just that when things are gone they're gone. They aint comin back. Yessir.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Mean, Gone, World

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• Rage is really only for the good days. The truth is there's little of that left. the truth is that the forms I see have been slowly emptied out. They no longer have any content. They are shapes only. A train, a wall, a world. Or a man. A thing dangling in senseless articulation in a howling void. No meaning to its life. Its words. Why would I seek the company of such a thing? Why?

  Cormac McCarthy

  Wall, Good Day, Men

  Cormac McCarthy (2011). “The Sunset Limited: A Novel in Dramatic Form”, p.51, Pan Macmillan

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• The trouble with a liar is he can't remember what he said.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Liars, Lying, Remember

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• They heard somewhere in that tenantless night a bell that tolled and ceased where no bell was and they rode out on the round dais of the earth which alone was dark and no light to it and which carried their figures and bore them up into the swarming stars so that they rode not under but among them and they rode at once jaunty and circumspect, like thieves newly loosed in that dark electric, like young thieves in a glowing orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Stars, Dark, Night

  Cormac McCarthy (2012). “All the Pretty Horses”, p.31, Pan Macmillan

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• Only now is the child finally divested of all that he has been. His origins are become remote as is his destiny and not again in all the world's turning will there be terrains so wild and barbarous to try whether the stuff of creation may be shaped to man's will or whether his own heart is not another kind of clay.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Children, Heart, Destiny

  Cormac McCarthy (2015). “Blood Meridian: Picador Classic”, p.5, Pan Macmillan

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