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Art in its perfection is not ostentatious; it lies hid and works its effect, itself unseen.

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Carson McCullers

The writer must hew the phantom rock.

Hew, Phantoms, Rock, Rocks, Writer, Writing
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The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.

Color, Colors, Experiences, Medicine, Philosophy, Woven

I think we look for the differences in people because it makes us less lonely.

Differences, Lonely, Think, Thinking

This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings. This music was her—the real plain her. . . This music did not take a long time or a short time. It did not have anything to do with time going by at all. She sat with her arms around her legs, biting her salty knee very hard. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen. . . Now that it was over there was only her heart beating like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.

Beating, Heart, Hurt, Real

But you haven't never loved God nor even nair person. You hard and tough as cowhide. But just the same I knows you. This afternoon you going to roam all over the place without never being satisfied. You going to traipse all around like you haves to find something lost. You going to work yourself up with excitement. Your heart going to beat hard enough to kill you because you don't love and don't have peace. And then some day you going to bust loose and be ruined.

Afternoon, Atheist, Heart, Loved, Peace, Roam

After the first establishment of identity there comes the imperative need to lose this new-found sense of separateness and to belong to something larger and more powerful than the weak, lonely self. The sense of moral isolation is intolerable to us.

Belong, Identity, Lonely, Powerful, Self, Separateness
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