The Road Cormac Quotes

#1. The books I love most are the ones that combine some sort of gripping story with really beautiful or stylish writing. Some of my favorites are 'The Road' by Cormac McCarthy, 'The Virgin Suicides' by Jeffrey Eugenides, 'The Interpreter of Maladies' by Jhumpa Lahiri, and 'Blindness' by Jose Saramago.

Karen Thompson Walker

#2. What's the bravest thing you ever did?
He spat in the road a bloody phlegm. Getting up this morning, he said.

Cormac McCarthy

#3. It took two days to cross that ashen scabland. The road beyond fell away on every side. It's snowing, the boy said. He looked at the sky. A single gray flake sifting down. He caught it in his hand and watched it expire there like the last host of christendom.

Cormac McCarthy

#4. His mind was betraying him. Phantoms not heard from in a thousand years rousing slowly from their sleep.

Cormac McCarthy

#5. Barriers were being torn down. Where Freddie Mercury was trying to keep his homosexuality from the front pages, Boy George was openly & outrageously gay.

Pete Townshend

#6. When we're all gone at last then there'll be nobody here but death and his days will be numbered too. He'll be out in the road there with nothing to do and nobody to do it to. He'll say: where did everybody go? And that's how it will be. What's wrong with that?

Cormac McCarthy

#7. She can't say no if she's unconscious.

Zach Braff

#8. When he reached the fence he stopped for a moment to look back at the road and then he went on, crossing into a field of rank weeds that heeled with harsh dip and clash under the wind as if fled through by something unseen.

Cormac McCarthy

#9. No one has a name in 'The Road.' Like Cormac McCarthy's novel from which it's adapted, 'The Road' features characters such as the man, the boy, the wife, the old man and the veteran.

Garret Dillahunt

#10. A rich smell of woodsmoke hung over the road.

Cormac McCarthy

#11. The kind of stuff I usually read is a bit more on the literary side, like books that I think are influential in the sense that they're doing pulpy subject matter in a refined way. Like 'The Road' by Cormac McCarthy; I loved that book.

Isaac Marion

#12. Suppose you were the last one left? Suppose you did that to yourself?

Cormac McCarthy

#13. On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world.

Cormac McCarthy

#14. The shape of the city stood in the grayness like a charcoal drawing sketched across the waste.

Cormac McCarthy

#15. The faint light all about, quivering and sourceless, refracted in the rain of drifting soot.

Cormac McCarthy

#16. Legs: the symbol of my solitude, my individual path, my uniqueness. Arms: the symbol of togetherness, my connection to others, my belonging to the human race. My legs make me who I am; they create my solitary path. My arms make me who I belong to; they connect me to the world.

Nicos Hadjicostis

#17. Where all was burnt to ash before them no fires were to be had and the nights were long and dark and cold beyond anything they'd yet encountered. Cold to crack the stones. To take your life.

Cormac McCarthy

#18. In the dark glass where the road poured down their cigarettes rose and fell like distant semaphores above the soft green dawn of the dashlights.

Cormac McCarthy

#19. I undress to impress - Patch

Becca Fitzpatrick

#20. The boy's candlecolored skin was all but translucent.

Cormac McCarthy

#21. He'd stop and lean on the cart and the boy would go on and then stop and look back and he would raise his weeping eyes and see him standing there in the road looking back at him from some unimaginable future, glowing in that waste like a tabernacle.

Cormac McCarthy

#22. I see God in the face of children. If there were no children on this Earth, if somebody announced that all kids are dead, I would jump off the balcony immediately. I'm done.

Michael Jackson

#23. He walked to the top of a rise and crouched and watched the day accrue. The chary dawn, the cold illucid world.

Cormac McCarthy

#24. There's too much shit still down the road that I got to deal with. It aint goin to end here.

Cormac McCarthy

#25. In the draws the smoke coming off the ground like mist and the thin black trees burning on the slopes like heathen candles.

Cormac McCarthy

#26. The road has its own reasons and no two travelers will have the same understanding of those reasons. If indeed they come to an understanding of them at all.

Cormac McCarthy

#27. A forest fire was making its way along the tinderbox ridges above them, flaring and shimmering against the overcast like the northern lights. Cold as it was he stood there a long time. The color of it moved something in him long forgotten. Make a list. Recite a litany. Remember.

Cormac McCarthy

#28. There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto.

Cormac McCarthy

#29. Dwindling slowly on the road behind him like some storybook peddler from an antique time, dark and bent and spider thin and soon to vanish forever.

Cormac McCarthy