"Her only thought was that this might be the single chance she would get in her life to associate with beauty."
I’m an alcoholic. I’m a drug addict. I’m homosexual. I’m a genius.
TC: . . . of course I could be all four of these dubious things and still be a saint. But I shonuf ain’t no saint yet, nawsuh.
TC: Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Now let’s knock it off and try for some shut-eye.
TC: But first let’s say a prayer. Let’s say our old prayer. The one we used to say when we were real little and slept in the same bed with Sook and Queenie, with the quilts piled on top of us because the house was so big and cold.
TC: Our old prayer? Okay.
TC and TC: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.
TC: Goodnight.
TC: Goodnight.
TC: I love you.
TC: I love you, too.
TC: You’d better. Because when you get right down to it, all we’ve got is each other. Alone. To the grave. And that’s the tragedy, isn’t it?
TC: You forget. We have God, too.
TC: Yes. We have God.
TC: Zzzzzzz
TC: Zzzzzzzzz
TC and TC: Zzzzzzzzzzz
TRUMAN CAPOTE, from Nocturnal Turnings, or How Siamese Twins Have Sex, in Music for Chameleons. New York: Random House, 1975.
