Love doesn't die; the men and women do.

It begins with a character, usually, and once he stands up on his feet and begins to move, all I can do is trot along behind him with a paper and pencil trying to keep up long enough to put down what he says and does.

Only the peak feels so sound and stable that the beginning of the falling is hidden for a little while.

Well, Bud," he said, looking at me, "I'll be damned if you don't go to a lot of trouble to have your fun. Kidnapping, then fighting. What do you do on your holidays? Burn houses?

I discovered that my own little postage stamp of native soil was worth writing about and that I would never live long enough to exhaust it.

How do our lives ravel out into the no-wind, no-sound, the weary gestures wearily recapitulant: echoes of old compulsions with no-hand on no-string: in sunset we fall into furious attitudes, dead gestures of dolls.

Everyone in the South has no time for reading because they are all too busy writing.