Black: How long you felt like this?
White: All my life.
Black: And that’s the truth.
White: It’s worse than that.
Black: I dont see what could be worse than that.
White: Rage is really only for the good days. The truth is there’s little of that left. The truth is that the forms I see have been slowly emptied out. They no longer have any content. They are shapes only. A train, a wall, a world. Or a man. A thing dangling in senseless articulation in a howling void. No meaning to its life. Its words. Why would I seek the company of such a thing? Why?
White: You see what it is you’ve saved.
Black: Tried to save. Am tryin. Tryin hard.
— Cormac McCarthy, The Sunset Limited