Those final weeks, spanning end of summer and the beginning of another autumn, are blurred in memory, perhaps because our understanding of each other had reached that sweet depth where two people communicate more often in silence than in words:… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
“You can beat your brains out for her, and she’ll hand you horseshit on a platter.” — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
“The walls of the cell fell away, the sky came down, I saw the big yellow bird.” — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
There is really no practical help that one can offer; it is a matter of self-discovery, of one's own convictions, or working with one's… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
“...Narcissus was so egotist...he was merely another of us who, in our unshatterable isolation, recognized, on seeing his reflection, the beautiful comrade, the only… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
“Is it - I'm not certain - possible to love someone if your first interest is the use you can make of him? Doesn't… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
One of the most difficult things in writing a novel or anything at all is to choose the point of view from which it's… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
I've never worked for a newspaper. I've had some very bad reviews in newspapers. — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
But, my dear, so few things are fulfilled: what are most lives but a series of incompleted episodes? 'We work in the dark, we… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
“…she, glittery voyager of secure destination, steamed down the harbor with whistles whistling and confetti in the air.” — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
“Because it's indeed difficult to portray, in any meaningful depth, another being, his appearance, speech, mentality, without to some degree, and often for quite… — truman capote Copy Share Image
“It's a bore, but the answer is good things only happen to you if you're good. Good? Honest is more what I mean. Not… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
“In the courtyard there was an angel of black stone, and its angel head rose above giant elephant leaves; the stark glass angel eyes,… — Truman Capote Copy Share Image
