“My perfect day is sitting in a room with some blank paper. That's heaven. That's gold and anything else is just a waste of time.”

— Cormac McCarthy

Last update June 3, 2021. History

Help us to complete the source, original and additional information

Do you have more details about the quote "My perfect day is sitting in a room with some blank paper. That's heaven. That's gold and anything else is just a waste…" by Cormac McCarthy?

Cormac McCarthy 270

American novelist, playwright, and screenwriter 1933

Related quotes

“this satsangh?’ You just drop that. You don’t have to get anything, okay? You don’t have to benefit from this. Just waste half a day and go. (Laughter) Really. ‘What should I get out of my meditation?’ Nothing. Just waste fifteen-twenty minutes every day. So do not meditate; just learn to waste some time. Nothing needs to happen. This is not about resting; this is not about becoming healthy; this is not about becoming enlightened; this is not about reaching heaven. All this is just wasting time. When you are not trying to be anything, not trying to get anywhere, you are being.”

Sadhguru (1957) Yogi, mystic, visionary and humanitarian

Source: Himalayan Lust

“(Doctor in bed) I dreamt I died and went to Heaven and they handed me some old Ms. magazines, a paper sheet, and made me sit in a little room with a bunch of other doctors.”

Nicole Hollander (1939) Cartoonist

Source: Sylvia cartoon strip, p. 106

“My mind turned by anxiety, or other cause, from its scrutiny of blank paper, is like a lost child–wandering the house, sitting on the bottom step to cry.”

Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) English writer

5 December 1919
A Moment's Liberty (1990)
Source: A Writer's Diary
Context: This last week L. has been having a little temperature in the evening, due to malaria, and that due to a visit to Oxford; a place of death and decay. I'm almost alarmed to see how entirely my weight rests on his prop. And almost alarmed to see how intensely I'm specialised. My mind turned by anxiety, or other cause, from its scrutiny of blank paper, is like a lost child – wandering the house, sitting on the bottom step to cry.