The names of the cerros and the sierras and the deserts exist only on maps. We name them that we do not… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
She looked up at him and her face was pale and austere in the uplight and her eyes lost in their darkly… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
Men speak of blind destiny, a thing without scheme or purpose. But what sort of destiny is that? Each act in this… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
He could not construct for the child's pleasure the world he'd lost without constructing the loss as well and he thought perhaps… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf. — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
Things separate from their stories have no meaning. They are only shapes. Of a certain size and color. A certain weight. When… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
And perhaps beyond those shrouded swells another man did walk with another child on the dead gray sands. Slept but a sea… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
The cooler days have brought a wistful mood upon him. The smell of coalsmoke in the air at night. Old times, dead years. For… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“The events of the world can have no separate life from the world. And yet the world itself can have no temporal view of… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“I had two dreams about him after he died. I dont remember the first one all that well but it was about meetin him… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“You think people was meaner then than they are now? the deputy said. The old man was looking out at the flooded town. No,… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“They set forth in a crimson dawn where sky and earth closed in a razorous plane. Out there dark little archipelagos of cloud and… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“Nothing. Where all was burnt to ash before them no fires were to be had and the nights were long and dark and cold… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
He said that whether a man's life was writ in a book someplace or whether it took its form day by day was one… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“He lives in a room above a courtyard behind a tavern and he comes down at night like some fairybook beast to fight with… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“Ultimo hombre. Last man standing, must've been one. Where'd he go?” — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“To seek out the upright. No fall but preceded by a declination. He took great marching steps into the nothingness, counting them against his… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“They went through the last of the cars and then walked up the track to the locomotive and climbed up to the catwalk. Rust… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
“Night fell upon them dark and starblown and the wagon grew swollen near mute with dew. On their chairs in such black immobility these… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
