A Quote by Cormac McCarthy

The passing of armies and the passing of sands in the desert are one. — © Cormac McCarthy
The passing of armies and the passing of sands in the desert are one.
The charms of the passing woman are generally in direct proportion to the swiftness of her passing.
American Idol, I love. I think it's a passing fancy but not passing so soon.
Sometimes we'll only see each other in passing, like ships passing in the night.
The Moon and Pleiades have set, / Midnight is nigh, / The time is passing, passing, yet / Alone I lie.
Our strife pertains to ourselves-to the passing generations of men-and it can without convulsion be hushed forever with the passing of one generation.
Not passing Obamacare won't bankrupt America; passing it will.
Everything passes. There is great beauty in this, both in the passing of pain and in the passing of pleasure. When things present themselves to you as permanent, don't believe it.
Neither our own passing nor the passing of an era is a tragedy, no matter how much we would like to think it is.
It's like do White privilege exist? Absolutely. In the case of passing judgment, you have to make sure that you're passing judgement on the right person.
For most people, a life lived alone, with passing strangers or passing lovers, is incoherent and ultimately unbearable. Someone must be there to know what we have done for those we love.
Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark - spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror. It's passing, yet I'm the one who's doing all the moving.
When you approach the second half of your life, you start to unconsciously consider what you're passing on. As a writer, that's obviously part of what you're doing. And as a teacher, that's another way of passing on information, history, or whatever you have.
Young poets bewail the passing of love; old poets, the passing of time. There is surprisingly little difference.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
It is in the dark that God is passing by. The bridge and our lives shake not because God has abandoned, but the exact opposite: God is passing by. God is in the tremors. Dark is the holiest ground, the glory passing by. In the blackest, God is closest, at work, forging His perfect and right will. Though it is black and we can't see and our world seems to be free-falling and we feel utterly alone, Christ is most present to us.
Which is more musical: a truck passing by a factory or a truck passing by a music school?
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