Our waking life's desire to shape the world to our convenience invites all manner of paradox and difficulty. — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
In his dream she was sick and he cared for her. The dream bore the look of sacrifice but he thought differently.… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
Yet it is the narrative that is the life of the dream while the events themselves are often interchangeable. The events of… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
From daydreams on the road there was no waking. He plodded on. He could remember everything of her save her scent. Seated… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
And the dreams so rich in color. How else would death call you? Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to… — Cormac McCarthy Copy Share Image
What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would… — 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
