I want to still be me when I wake up one fine morning and have breakfast at Tiffany´s.
Truman CapoteRead
Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,’ Holly advised him. ‘That was Doc’s mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing; the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote warns against loving someone or something that is wild and free, as they may ultimately leave you heartbroken.
In this quote, Holly advises Mr. Bell about the dangers of loving 'wild things'—creatures or people who are inherently free and untamed. She reflects on the past mistakes of Doc, who nurtured and cared for wild animals, only to see them eventually leave him once they regained their strength. Holly emphasizes that the more you invest your love in a wild thing, the more they will grow and eventually become independent, leaving you behind with the pain of their absence. This illustrates the bittersweet nature of love for those who are wild at heart.
Themes
LoveWildFreedomHeartbreakLoss
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be referenced in discussions about the nature of love and freedom in relationships.
More from Truman Capote
All quotes →All writing, all art, is an act of faith. If one tries to contribute to human understanding, how can that be called decadent? It's like saying a declaration of love is an act of decadence. Any work of art, provide it springs from a sincere motivation to further understanding between people, is an act of faith and therefore is an act of love.
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No one will ever know what 'In Cold Blood' took out of me. It scraped me right down to the marrow of my bones. It nearly killed me. I think, in a way, it did kill me.
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Hot weather opens the skull of a city, exposing its white brain, and its heart of nerves, which sizzle like the wires inside a lightbulb. And there exudes a sour extra-human smell that makes the very stone seem flesh-alive, webbed and pulsing.
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I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together.
Truman CapoteRead
The quietness of his tone italicized the malice of his reply.
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