Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Cormac McCarthy, The Road

"He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the word and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality,known or not."
57 Quotes
"He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the word and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality,known or not."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"Rich dreams now which he was loathe to wake from. Things no longer known in the world. The cold drove him forth to mend the fire. Memory of her crossing the lawn toward the house in the early morning in a thin rose gown that clung to her breasts. He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"Suppose you were the last one left? Suppose you did that to yourself?"
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"People always getting ready for tomorrow. I didn't believe in that. Tomorrow wasn't getting ready for them. It didn't even know they were there."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him. Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before. Like the onset of some cold glaucoma dimming away the world."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"Each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"His mind was betraying him. Phantoms not heard from in a thousand years rousing slowly from their sleep."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"If only my heart were stone."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"...the space which [books] occupied was itself an expectation."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"And the dreams so rich in color. How else would death call you? Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to ash instantly."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"What is it?Nothing. I had a bad dream. What did you dream about?Nothing. Are you okay?No. He put his arms around him and held him. It's okay, he said. I was crying. But you didnt wake up. I'm sorry. I was just so tired. I meant in the dream."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
"The frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night. The last instance of a thing takes the class with it. Turns out the light and is gone. Look around you. Ever is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That ever is no time at all."
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
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