Thursday, 7 November 2013

How long will this rain keep on?

When a person knows and can’t make the others understand, what does he do?

He wanted to speak to his son, but the could think of nothing to say.

I put all of my trust and hope in you. And all I get is blank misunderstanding and idleness and indifference. Of all I put in nothing has remained.

This summer she realized something about her dad she had never known before. He was lonesome and he was an old man.
He talked about how things would have been if he had just managed in a different way.

Each minute was so long that in it there was ample time for contemplation and enquiry.

The hopeless suffering of his people made in him a madness, a wild and evil feeling of destruction.

Your kid shot my baby in the head on purpose.

This is one of the commandments Karl Marx left to us. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs”.

The emptiness spread in him. All was gone. Antonapoulos was away; he was not here to remember.

They all have something they hate. And they all have something they love more than eating or sleeping or wine or friendly company. That is why they are always so busy.

Then when he had washed the ashtray and the glass he brought out a pistol from his pocket and put a bullet in his chest.

You know full well that I do not want to leave. You pressed me into saying yes when I was in no fit condition to make a decision.
I wish to remain where I have always been, and you know it.

How long will this rain keep on?

And in the dream there was a peculiar horror in wandering on and on through the crowd and not knowing where to lay down the burden he had carried in his arms so long.
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
Carson Mc Cullers

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