From The Ballad of the Sad Café by Carson McCullers 📚
With all things which could be made by the hands Miss Amelia prospered.
There is a type of person who has a quality about him that sets him apart from other and more ordinary human beings. Such a person has an instinct which is usually found only in small children, an instinct to establish immediate and vital contact between himself and all things in the world.
People are never so free with themselves and so recklessly glad as when there is some possibility of commotion or calamity ahead.
All useful things have a price, and are bought only with money, as that is the way the world is run. You know without having to reason about it the price of a bale of cotton, or a quart of molasses. But no value has been put on human life; it is given to us free and taken without being paid.
remembering don’t come to a man face forward—it corners around sideways.
peach trees light as March clouds with their blossoms.
There was a moon, pale on the dark earth and areas of late, porous snow
Moonlight. The leg of a pretty girl. One thing after another.
But a sudden piece of glass on a sidewalk. Or a nickel tune in a music box. A shadow on a wall at night. And I would remember.
A tree. A rock. A cloud.