The snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation.

So I'm not a Southern writer in the commonly held sense of the term, like Faulkner or Eudora Welty, who took the South for their entire literary environment and subject matter.

I had the epiphany that laughter was light, and light was laughter, and that this was the secret of the universe.

I'm not sure whay I've been drawn to this subject, except that murder is a subject that has always drawn people for as long as people have been telling stories.

Anything is grand if it's done on a large enough scale.

Every new event—everything I did for the rest of my life—would only separate us more and more: days she was no longer a part of, an ever-growing distance between us. Every single day for the rest of my life, she would only be further away.

But romantic vision can also lead one away from certain very hard, ugly truths about life that are important to know.