Carson McCullers

First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved.

The value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.

Love is a joint experience, but the fact that it is joint does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away.

Loneliness is the great American curse. And the loneliness that comes from having no people is greater than the loneliness of being alone.

The town itself is dreary; not much is there except the cotton mill, the two-room houses where the workers live, a few peach trees, a church with two colored windows, and a miserable main street only a hundred yards long.

The man had a long, solemn face and small black eyes set deep in it. He was so tall that when he walked through the door he had to duck his head. His hair was black, his hands were black, and he wore a black suit and a starched white shirt.

The boy was a slim, pale child with reddish hair. He was dressed in a neat suit of overalls, and he had a white face with freckles.

She was a little, thin, pale woman with big eyes and her hair was the color of the sand. But she had a high, almost delicate nose, and her nostrils quivered slightly when she was angry or excited.

The café was a big, dark, empty room with a high ceiling. It was very clean but neglected-looking, like a room in an old house that has been shut up for years.

The heart is forever inexperienced.

There is no such thing as a soulmate... and who would want to be united with someone forever anyway? But if it were to happen, wouldn't it be nice if it could be a waitress?