He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal my mouth with dirt.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
At a crossroads a ground set with dolmen stones where the spoken bones of oracles lay mouldering.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
There were few nights lying in the dark that he did not envy the dead.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
And perhaps beyond those shrouded swells another man did walk with another child on the dead grey sands. Slept but a sea apart on another beach among the bitter ashes of the world or stood in their rags lost to the same indifferent sun.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
Out on the roads the pilgrims sank down and fell over and died and the bleak and shrouded Earth went trundling past the sun and returned again as trackless and as unremarked as the path of any nameless sisterworld in the ancient dark beyond.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
The world soon to be largely populated by men who would eat your children in front of your eyes and the cities themselves held by cores of blackened looters who tunneled among the ruins and crawled from the rubble white of tooth and eye carrying charred and anonymous tins of food in nylon nets like shoppers in the commissaries of hell.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
People were always getting ready for tomorrow. I didn’t believe in that. Tomorrow wasn’t getting ready for them. It didn’t even know they were there.
Cormac McCarthy, The Road (via bibliophilebunny)
Things will be better when everybody’s gone.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
Where men can’t live gods fare no better.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
He’d been ready to die and now he wasn’t going to and he had to think about that.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
Each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the word in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
He walked out in the grey light and stood and saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
There were times when he sat watching the boy sleep that he would begin to sob uncontrollably but it wasn’t about death. He wasn’t sure what it was about but he thought it was about beauty or about goodness.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
The nights were blinding cold and casket black and that long reach of morning had a terrible silence to it.
The Road, Cormac McCarthy