Answered Prayers Capote Quotes

More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.

That's the question: is truth an illusion, or is illusion truth, or are they essentially the same? Myself, I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true.

And yes, to answer you seriously, I am beginning to be... well, not bored, but tempted; afraid, but tempted. When you've been in pain for a long time, when you wake up every morning with a rising sense of hysteria, then boredom is what you want, marathon sleeps, a silence in yourself.

Most secrets should never be told, but especially those that are more menacing to the listener than to the teller.

Freedom may be the most important thing in life, but there's such a thing as too much freedom.

If I could do anything, I would go to the middle of our planet Earth and seek uranium, rubies and gold. I'd look for unspoiled monsters. Then I'd move to the country. --Florie Rotondo, age 8

И едва тогава си дадох сметка, че под отлично поддържаната повърхност винаги е имало едно ужасено, давещо се дете.

I well understand why analysts demand high payment, for what can be more tedious than listening to another person recount his dreams?

In fact, I was a kind of Hershey Bar whore - there wasn't much I wouldn't do for a nickel's worth of chocolate.

And yet, in a touching, shrunken way, she was rather pretty - a prettiness marred by her seeing to be precariously balanced on the edge of pain.

It was an atmosphere of luxurious exhaustion, like a ripened, shedding rose, while all that waited outside wad the failing New York afternoon.

I massaged and trained in figure and facial exercises - although facial exercises are a lot of crap; the only effective one is cocksucking. No joke, there's nothing like it for firming the jawline.

There is always something wrong with redheads. The hair is kinky, or it's the wrong color, too dark and tough, or too pale and sickly. And the skin - it rejects the elements: wind, sun, everything discolors it. A really beautiful redhead is rarer than a flawless forty-carat pigeon-blood ruby - or a flawed one, for that matter. But none of this was true of Kate. Her hair was like a winter sunset, lighted with the last of the pale afterglow. And the only redhead I've ever seen with a complexion to compare with hers was Pamela Churchill's. But then, Pam is English, she grew up saturated with dewy English mists, something every dermatologist ought to bottle.

Even for those who dislike champagne, myself among them, there are two champagnes one can't refuse: Dom Perignon and the even superior Cristal, which is bottled in a natural-colored glass that displays its pale blaze, a chilled fire of such prickly dryness that, swallowed, seems not to have been swallowed at all, but instead to have turned to vapors on the tongue and burned there to one damp sweet ash.

Hulga the whole while hollering like a half-slaughtered hog. (Attention, students of literature! Alliteration - have you noticed? - is my least vice.)

Then, there on the screen I saw Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor. An American Tragedy, a film I'd seen at least twice, not that it was all that great, but still it was very good, especially the final scene, which was unreeling at this particular moment: Clift and Taylor standing together, separated by the bars of a prison cell, a death cell, for Clift is only hours away from execution. Clift, already a poetic ghost inside his grey death-clothes, and Taylor, nineteen and ravishing, sublimely fresh as lilac after rain.

Miss Langman was often, in interviews, described as a witty conversationalist; how can a woman be witty when she hasn't a sense of humor? - and she has none, which was her central flaw as a person and as an artist.

Is it - I'm not certain - possible to love someone if your first interest is the use you can make of him? Doesn't the gainful motive, and the guilt accruing to it, halt the progression of other emotions? It can be argued that even the most decently coupled people were initially magnetized by the mutual-exploitation principle - sex, shelter, appeased ego; but still that is trivial, human: the difference between that and truly using another person is the difference between edible mushrooms and the kind that kill: Unspoiled Monsters.

Both Dietrich and Garbo occasionally came to Boaty's, the latter always escorted by Cecil Beaton, whom I'd met when he photographed me for Boaty's magazine (an overheard exchange between these two: Beaton, "The most distressing fact of growing older is that I find my private parts are shrinking." Garbo, after a mournful pause, "Ah, if only I could say the same.")

As truth is nonexistent, it can never be anything but illusion - but illusion, the by-product of revealing artifice, can reach the summits nearer the unobtainable peak of Perfect Truth. For example, female impersonators. The impersonator is in fact a man (truth), until he re-creates himself as a woman (illusion) and of the two, the illusion is the truer.

Pornography, in my opinion, has been much misunderstood, for it doesn't develop sex fiends and send them roaming alleyways - it is an anodyne for the sexually oppressed and unrequited, for what is the aim of pornography if not to stimulate masturbation? And surely masturbation is the pleasanter alternative for men "on the muscle," as they say in horse-breeding circles.

Somewhere in this world there exists an exceptional philosopher named Florie Rotondo. The other day I came across one of her ruminations printed in a magazine devoted to the writings of schoolchildren. It said: “If I could do anything, I would go to the middle of our planet, Earth, and seek uranium, rubies, and gold. I'd look for Unspoiled Monsters. Then I'd move to the country. --Florie Rotondo, age 8.” Florie, honey, I know just what you mean – even if you don’t: how could you, age eight?

there were too many areas where I was not writing as well as I could, where I was not delivering the total potential. Slowly, but with accelerating alarm,

Кучета, котки, деца – никога не бях притежавал нещо, което да е зависимо от мен. Достатъчно време ми отнемаше задължението да сменям собствените си пелени.

Her voice was rather teacup-timid, but her cobalt eyes had the 20/20 steeliness of a gangland hit man.

Oh, but I do have a title,” said Truman. “Answered Prayers.” He said that the quote was attributed to Saint Theresa of Avila: “More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.

It means risking a cure; and it is a risk. I’ve done it once before. At a clinic in Vevey; and every night the mountains collapsed on me, and every morning I wanted to drown myself in Lac Léman.

I am one of those persons who, when sexually immersed, require serious silence, the hush of impeccable concentration. Perhaps it is due to my pubescent training as a Hershey Bar whore, and because I have consistently willed myself to accommodate unscintillating partners - whatever the reason, for me to reach an edge and fall over, all the mechanics must be assisted by the deepest fantasizing, an intoxicating mental cinema that does not welcome lovemaking chatter. The truth is, I am rarely with the person I am with, so to say; and dependence upon an inner scenery, imagined and remembered erotic fragments, shadows irrelevant to the body above or beneath us - those images our minds accept inside sexual seizure but exclude once the beast has been routed, for, regardless of how tolerant we are, these cameos are intolerable to the meanspirited watchmen within us.

Think back. How many of your sweetest dreams, your greatest hopes, your most cherished desires have come true? On the other hand, how much of what you didn't really care about wound up happening anyway? What you have to understand is that it's the god of solitude who also happens to be in charge of denying us what we desperately want. She does it because she believes the more we get what we desperately want, the more miserable we become, even more so than we already are. As Truman Capote put it, "More tears are shed for answered prayers than unanswered ones." So the god of solitude is only trying to help us not be miserable getting what we thought would make us happy. Though once in a while she'll let it happen to teach us the secret of happiness is to be grateful for what we already have. Not constantly wanting, trying to get more. The way to outsmart her, then, is not to care one way or the other. That way, too, when you don't get what you want, you won't be disappointed because it won't really matter.

What was that wonderful quote by Truman Capote? More tears have been shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.