But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up, Mr Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll… Continue reading Truman Capote
When you’ve got nowhere to turn, turn on the gas. — Truman Capote, Answered Prayers . (Hamish Hamilton [London] 1986) Unfinished novel published posthumously.
My, how foolish I am! You know what I’ve always thought? I’ve always thought a body would have to be sick and dying before they saw the Lord. And I imagined that when He came it would be like looking at the Baptist window: pretty as colored glass with the sun pouring through, such a… Continue reading Truman Capote
We are alone, darling child, terribly, isolated each from the other; so fierce is the world’s ridicule we cannot speak or show our tenderness; for us, death is stronger than life, it pulls like a wind through the dark, all our cries burlesqued in joyless laughter; and with the garbage of loneliness stuffed down us… Continue reading Truman Capote
The brain may take advice, but not the heart, and love, having no geography, knows no boundaries: weight and sink it deep, no matter, it will rise and find the surface: and why not? any love is natural and beautiful that lies within a person’s nature; only hypocrites would hold a man responsible for what… Continue reading Truman Capote
Autumns reward western Kansas for the evils that the remaining seasons impose: winter’s rough Colorado winds and hip-high, sheep-slaughtering snows; the slushes and the strange land fogs of spring; and summer, when even crows seek the puny shade, and the tawny infinitude of wheatstalks bristle, blaze. At last, after September, another weather arrives, an Indian… Continue reading Truman Capote
You exist in a half-world suspended between two superstructures, one self-expression and the other self-destruction. — Truman Capote, In Cold Blood (Random House, 1965)
We all, sometimes, leave each other out there under the skies, and we never understand why. — Truman Capote, Music for Chameleons: Mojave. (Penguin Books, Limited (UK) January 25, 2001) Originally published 1980.
The wind is us – it gathers and remembers all our voices, then sends them talking and telling through the leaves and the fields. — Truman Capote, Truman Capote and the Legacy of “In Cold Blood,” by Ralph F. Voss. (University Alabama Press; 3rd ed. edition March 15, 2015) Originally published January 1st 2011.
Be anything but a coward, a pretender, an emotional crook, a whore: I’d rather have cancer than a dishonest heart. — Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. (Random House 1958)