Her name was Maude and she drank whisky all day from a fruit jar under the counter.

Your criticism sounds to me as if you have read too many critical books and are too smart in an artificial, destructive, and very limited way.

The Southerner is usually tolerant of those weaknesses that proceed from innocence.

But learned people can analyze for me why I fear hell and their implication is that there is no hell. But I believe in hell. Hell seems a great deal more feasible to my weak mind than heaven. No doubt because hell is a more earth-seeming thing. I can fancy the tortures of the damned but I cannot imagine the disembodied souls hanging in a crystal for all eternity praising God.

Sickness is a place, ... and it's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow.

It is better to be young in your failures than old in your successes.

Her name was Maude and she drank whisky all day from a fruit jar under the counter.