I believe man will not merely endure, he will prevail...because he has a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.

Pouring out liquor is like burning books.

A writer is trying to create believable people in credible moving situations in the most moving way he can.

Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar.

When the switch fell I could feel it upon my flesh; when it welted and ridged it was my blood that ran, and I would think with each blow of the switch: Now you are aware of me! Now I am something in your secret and selfish life, who have marked your blood with my own for ever and ever.

I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth.

A pair of jaybirds came up from nowhere, whirled up on the blast like gaudy scraps of cloth or paper and lodged in the mulberries, where they swung in raucous tilt and recover, screaming into the wind that ripped their harsh cries onward and away like scraps of paper or of cloth in turn.