When mom and dad went to war the only prisoners they took were the children

These are the quicksilver moments of my childhood I cannot remember entirely. Irresistible and emblematic, I can recall them only in fragments and shivers of the heart.

Of the Yamacraw children, I can say little. I don't think I changed the quality of their lives significantly or altered the inexorable fact that they were imprisoned by the very circumstance of their birth.

I meet kids now who become novelists, poets, write for the theater and movies, who were simply inspired by what they saw during the Spoleto Festival.

Love's action. It isn't talk and it never has been.

My mother thought of my father as half barbarian and half blunt instrument, and she isolated him from his children.

A story is a living thing, it moves and shifts.