Womens, they ain't like men. A woman ain't gone beat you with a stick. Miss Hilly wouldn't pull no pistol on me. Miss Leefolt wouldn't come burn my house down. No, white womens like to keep they hands clean. They got a shiny little set of tools they use, sharp as witches' fingernails, tidy and laid out neat, like the picks on a dentist tray. They gone take they time with em.

....we ain't doing civil rights here. We just telling stories like they really happen.

She's wearing a tight red sweater and a red skirt and enough makeup to scare a hooker.

I always order the banned books from a black market dealer in California, figuring if the State of Mississippi banned them, they must be good.

With other people, Hilly hands out lies like the Presbyterians hand out guilt, but it's our own silent agreement, this strict honesty, perhaps the one thing that has kept us friends

I intend to stay on her like hair on soap.

He let out a long sorry sigh and I love that look on his face, that disappointment. I understand now why girls resist,just for that sweet look of regret.