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.

A good title should be like a good metaphor. It should intrigue without being too baffling or too obvious.

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

How did it happen that now he could see everything so clearly. Something had given him leave to live in the present. Not once in his entire life had he come to rest in the quiet center of himself but had forever cast himself from some dark past he could not remember to a future that did not exist. Not once had he been present for his life. So his life had passed like a dream. Is it possible for people to miss their lives the way one can miss a plane?

It is not a bad thing to settle for the Little Way, not the big search for the big happiness but the sad little happiness of drinks and kisses, a good little car and a warm deep thigh.

I couldn't stand it. I still can't stand it. I can't stand the way things are. I cannot tolerate this age.

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