It is impossible to be among the woods animals on their own ground without a feeling of expanding one's own world, as when any foreign country is visited.

A man'll seem like a person to a woman, year in, year out. She'll put up and she'll put up. Then one day he'll do something maybe no worse than what he's been a-doing all his life. She'll look at him. And without no warning he'll look like a varmint.

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.

Words began fights and words ended them.

Now he understood. This was death. Death was a silence that gave back no answer.

no case of libel by a negro against a white would even reach a southern court.

it is my conviction that the personality of the writer has nothing to do with the literate product of his mind. And publicity in this case embarrasses me because I am acutely conscious of how far short the book falls of the artistry I am struggling to achieve. It's like being caught half-dressed.