The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that does not require his attention.

It began to drizzle rain and he turned on the windshield wipers; they made a great clatter like two idiots clapping in church.

You shall know the truth, and it will make you odd.

To the hard of hearing you shout, and for the almost blind you draw large and startling figures.

The Catholic novelist in the South will see many distorted images of Christ, but he will certainly feel that a distorted image of Christ is better than no image at all. I think he will feel a good deal more kinship with backwoods prophets and shouting fundamentalists than he will with those politer elements for whom the supernatural is an embarrassment and for whom religion has become a department of sociology or culture or personality development.

A God you understood would be less than yourself.

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.