Dope. They sell that shit to schoolkids. It's worse than that. How's that? Schoolkids buy it.

— Cormac McCarthy

Do you think I lie to you? No. But you think I might lie to you about dying. Yes. Okay. I might. But we're not dying. Okay.

— Cormac McCarthy

Each leaf that brushed his face deepened his sadness and dread. Each leaf he passed he'd never pass again. They rode over his face like veils, already some yellow, their veins like slender bones where the sun shone through them. He had resolved himself to ride on for he could not turn back and the world that day was as lovely as any day that ever was, and he was riding to his death.

— Cormac McCarthy

Each man is the bard of his own existence. This is how he is joined to the world.

— Cormac McCarthy

Each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins.

— Cormac McCarthy

Even a nonbeliever might find it useful to model himself after God. Very useful, in fact.

— Cormac McCarthy

Every day is a lie. But you are dying. That is not a lie.

— Cormac McCarthy

Every day is a lie, he said. But you are dying. That is not a lie.

— Cormac McCarthy

Finally, he said that among men there was no such communion as among horses and the notion that men can be understood at all was probably an illusion.

— Cormac McCarthy

For this world also which seems to us a thing of stone and flower and blood is not a thing at all but a tale. And all in it is a tale and each tale the sum of all lesser tales and yet these are the selfsame tale and contain as well all within them. So everything is necessary. Every least thing. This is the hard lesson. Nothing can be dispensed with. Nothing despised. Because the seams are hid from us, you see. The joinery. The way in which the world is made. We have no way to know what could be taken away. What omitted. We have no way to tell what might stand and what might fall.

— Cormac McCarthy