I was not leaving the south to forget the south, but so that some day I might understand it

It would have been impossible for me to have told anyone what I derived from these novels, for it was nothing less than a sense of life itself.

If a man confessed anything on his death bed, it was the truth; for no man could stare death in the face and lie.

there are times when life's ends are so raveled that reason and sense cry out that we stop and gather them together again before we can proceed

It had been only through books-at best, no more than vicarious cultural transfusions-that I had managaed to keep myself alive in a negatively vital way. Whenever my environment had failed to support or nourish me, I had clutched at books.

They hate because they fear, and they fear because they feel that the deepest feelings of their lives are being assaulted and outraged. And they do not know why; they are powerless pawns in a blind play of social forces.

Make up your mind, Snail! You are half inside your house, And halfway out!