Quotes from Cormac McCarthy

Dont let go. Okay. No matter what. No matter what.

He went among vendors and beggars and wild street preachers haranguing a lost world with vigor unknown to the sane. Suttree admired them with their hot eyes and dogeared bibles, God's barkers gone forth into the world like the prophets of old.

Don't flang him off the bluff, boys. Tain't christian. Let's go then. Hump up there, stranger, and let's go get hung.

I will do what I promised, he whispered. No matter what. I will not send you into the darkness alone.

When it stops, you'll know you've heard it all your life.

The world shrinking down about a raw core of parsible entities. The names of things slowly following those things into oblivion. Colors. The names of birds. Things to eat. Finally the names of things one believed to be true. More fragile than he would have thought. How much was gone already? The sacred idiom shorn of its referents and so of its reality. Drawing down like something trying to preserve heat. In time to wink out forever.

The universe is no narrow thing and the order within it is not constrained by any latitude in its conception to repeat what exists in one part in any other part. Even in this world more things exist without our knowledge than with it and the order in creation which you see is that which you have put there, like a string in a maze, so that you shall not lose your way. For existence has its own order and that no man's mind can compass, that mind itself being but a fact among others.

He sat leaning forward in the seat with his elbows on the empty seatback in front of him and his chin on his forearms and he watched the play with great intensity. He'd notion that there would be something in the story itself to tell him about the way the world was or was becoming but there was not. There was nothing in it at all.

You have to carry the fire.

Look around you, he said. There is no prophet in the earth's long chronicle who's not honored here today. Whatever form you spoke of you were right.

The nights now only slightly less black. By day the banished sun circles the earth like a grieving mother with a lamp.

Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.