The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.
It began to drizzle rain and he turned on the windshield wipers; they made a great clatter like two idiots clapping in church.
If there were no hell, we would be like the animals. No hell, no dignity.
The writer can choose what he writes about but he cannot choose what he is able to make live.
The trees were full of silver-white sunlight and the meanest of them sparkled.
The grandmother didn't want to go to Florida. She wanted to visit some of her connections in east Tennessee and she was seizing at every chance to change Bailey's mind. Bailey was the son she liver with, her only boy.