Classes? Categories? Was that what we had come to?

Classes? Categories? Was that what we had come to?

In this world goodness is destined to be defeated. But a man must go down fighting. That is the victory. To do anything less is to be less than a man.

Hatred strikes me as one of the few signs of life remaining in the world. This is another thing about the world which is upsidedown: all the friendly and likable people seem dead to me; only the haters seem alive.

I don't like to be described as a Southern writer. The danger is, if you're described as a Southern writer, you might be thought of as someone who writes about a picturesque local scene like Uncle Tom's Cabin, Gone With the Wind, something like that.

Jews wait for the Lord, Protestants sing hymns to him, Catholics say mass and eat him.

Consciously cultivate the ordinary.