Quotes by Truman Capote

“A conversation is a dialogue, not a monologue. Thats why there are so few good conversations: due to scarcity, two intelligent talkers seldom meet.”

“Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.”

“The good thing about masturbation is that you dont have to dress up for it”

“Its a scientific fact that if you stay in California you lose one point of your IQ every year”

“Failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor.”

“Mick Jagger is about as sexy as a pissing toad.”

“All literature is gossip.”

“Friendship is a pretty full-time occupation if you really are friendly with somebody. You cant have too many friends because then youre just not really friends.”

“Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself”

“When youve got nowhere to turn, turn on the gas. , Answered Prayers (Unspoiled Monsters).”

Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell, Holly advised him. That was Docs mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you cant give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until theyre strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. Thats how youll end up, Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. Youll end up looking at the sky.Shes drunk, Joe Bell informed me. Moderately, Holly confessed....Holly lifted her martini. Lets wish the Doc luck, too, she said, touching her glass against mine. Good luck: and believe me, dearest Doc -- its better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.

You can love somebody without it being like that. You keep them a stranger, a stranger whos a friend.

He loved her, he loved her, and until hed loved her she had never minded being alone....

Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.

Well, Im about as tall as a shotgun, and just as noisy.

Id rather have cancer than a dishonest heart. Which isnt being pious. Just practical. Cancer may cool you, but the others sure to.

The blame of course belonged to Clyde, who just was not much given to talk. Also, he seemed very little curious himself: Grady, alarmed sometimes by the meagerness of his inquiries and the indifference this might suggest, supplied him liberally with personal information; which isnt to say she always told the truth, how many people in love do? or can? but at least she permitted him enough truth to account more or less accurately for all the life she had lived away from him. It was her feeling, however, that he would as soon not hear her confessions: he seemed to want her to be as elusive, as secretive as he was himself.

all his prayers of the past had been simple concrete requests: God, give me a bicycle, a knife with seven blades, a box of oil paints. Only how, how, could you say something so indefinite, so meaningless as this: God, let me be loved.

Failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor.

You cold or something? he said. She strained against him; she wanted to pass clear through him: Its a chill, its nothing; and then, pushing a little away: Say you love me.I said it.No, oh no. You havent. I was listening. And you never do.Well, give me time.Please.He sat up and glanced at a clock across the room. It was after five. Then decisively he pulled off his windbreaker and began to unlace his shoes.Arent you going to, Clyde?He grinned back at her. Yeah, Im going to.I dont mean that; and whats more, I dont like it: you sound as though you were talking to a whore.Come off it, honey. You didnt drag me up here to tell you about love.You disgust me, she said.Listen to her! Shes sore!A silence followed that circulated like an aggrieved bird. Clyde said, You want to hit me, huh? I kind of like you when youre sore: thats the kind of girl you are, which made Grady light in his arms when he lifted and kissed her. You still want me to say it? Her head slumped on his shoulder. Because I will, he said, fooling his fingers in her hair. Take off your clothes--and Ill tell it to you good.