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.

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.

Lucky is the man who does not secretly believe that every possibility is open to him.

Why did God make woman so beautiful and man with such a loving heart?

It is not merely the truth of science that makes it beautiful, but its simplicity.

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

Genius consists not in making great discoveries, but in seeing the connection between small discoveries.