Life Quote by Cormac McCarthy

“Somewhere out there is a true and living prophet of destruction and I dont want to confront him. I know he's real. I have seen his work.” quote by Cormac McCarthy — Download Open image

““Somewhere out there is a true and living prophet of destruction and I dont want to confront him. I know he's real. I have seen his work.””

Cormac McCarthy

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The cooler days have brought a wistful mood upon him. The smell of coalsmoke in the air at night. Old times, dead years. For…

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“The events of the world can have no separate life from the world. And yet the world itself can have no temporal view of things. It can have no cause to favor certain enterprises over others. The passing of armies and the passing of sands in the desert are one. There is no favoring, you see. How could there be?…

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“I had two dreams about him after he died. I dont remember the first one all that well but it was about meetin him in town somewheres and he give me some money and I think I lost it. But the second one it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin through…

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“You think people was meaner then than they are now? the deputy said. The old man was looking out at the flooded town. No,…

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“They set forth in a crimson dawn where sky and earth closed in a razorous plane. Out there dark little archipelagos of cloud and the vast world of sand and scrub shearing upward into the shoreless void where those blue islands trembled and the earth grew uncertain, gravely canted and veering out through tinctures of rose and the dark beyond…

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“Nothing. Where all was burnt to ash before them no fires were to be had and the nights were long and dark and cold…

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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…

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“He lives in a room above a courtyard behind a tavern and he comes down at night like some fairybook beast to fight with the sailors. He is not big but he has big wrists, big hands. His shoulders are set close. The child's face is curiously untouched behind the scars, the eyes oddly innocent. They fight with fists, with…

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“Ultimo hombre. Last man standing, must've been one. Where'd he go?”

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“To seek out the upright. No fall but preceded by a declination. He took great marching steps into the nothingness, counting them against his return. Eyes closed, arms oaring. Upright to what? Something nameless in the night, lode or matrix. To which he and the stars were common satellite. Like the great pendulum in its rotunda scribing through the long…

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“They went through the last of the cars and then walked up the track to the locomotive and climbed up to the catwalk. Rust and scaling paint. They pushed into the cab and he blew away the ash from the engineer's seat and put the boy at the controls. The controls were very simple. Little to do but push the…

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“Night fell upon them dark and starblown and the wagon grew swollen near mute with dew. On their chairs in such black immobility these…

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What sets worlds in motion is the interplay of differences, their attractions and repulsions. Life is plurality, death is uniformity. By suppressing differences and pecularities, by eliminating different civilizations and cultures, progress weakens life and favors death. The ideal of a single civilization for everyone, implicit in the cult of progress and technique, impoverishes and mutilates us. Every view of…

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