You can't change a man, no-ways. By the time his mummy turns him loose and he takes up with some innocent woman and marries her, he's what he is.

Somewhere beyond the sink-hole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks, a boy and a yearling ran side by side, and were gone forever.

I have found that each of my books has developed out of something I have written in a previous book. Some thought evidently unfinished.

Madness is only a variety of mental nonconformity and we are all individualists here.

I do not understand how anyone can live without some small place of enchantment to turn to.

Life is strong stuff, some of us can bear more of it than others.

But to make the intangible tangible, to pick the emotion out of the air and make it true for others, is both the blessing and the curse of the writer, for the thing between book covers is never as beautiful as the thing he imagined.