Words of McCarthy

He pulled himself up a swaying wall and tried to see. All that frantic bedlam before him seemed to have slowed and each whirling face swam off in perfect parallax like warriors and their mentors twinned, a roomful of hostile and manic siamese.

Only that man who has offered up himself entire to the blood of war, who has been to the floor of the pit and seen horror in the round and learned at last that it speaks to his inmost heart, only that man can dance.

You would have thought wrongly.

I will be your child to hold And you be me when I am old The world grows cold The heathen rage The story's told Turn the page.

I'm not what you think I am. I aint nothin. I don't know why you put up with me.

Each man is the bard of his own existence.

Do you think that your fathers are watching? That they weigh you in their ledgerbook? Against what?

She said that in every trade save war men of talent and vigor prosper. In war they die.

A goodlookin horse is like a goodlookin woman, he said. They’re always more trouble than what they’re worth.

For this world also which seems to us a thing of stone and flower and blood is not a thing at all but is a tale.