Everything's been said, but it needs saying again.

In all my stories and novels, no one ever escapes Louisiana. Maybe that is because my soul never left Louisiana, although my body did go to California.

When I'm sitting in the church alone, I can hear singing of the old people. I can hear their singing and I can hear their praying, and sometimes I hum one of their songs.

I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to say something about home.

The Six Golden Rules of Writing: Read, read, read, and write, write, write.

The mark of fear is not easily removed.

But let us say he was (guilty). Let us for a moment say he was (guilty). What justice would there be to take his life? Justice, gentlemen? Why, I would just as soon put a hog in the electric chair as this.