July 21st, 2012
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.
Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote

∞05:14 pm, by lostinthesounds ∩11
[Quote] [Book Quote] [Other Voices Other Rooms] [Truman Capote] [1948] [Favourite]
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