Know This. I Think You Could Be

My Mother, Southern To The Bone, Once Told Me, “all Southern Literature Can Be Summed Up In These Words: ‘on The Night The Hogs Ate Willie, Mama Died When She Heard What Daddy Did To Sister.’” She Raised Me Up To Be A Southern Writer, But It Wasn’t Easy.

It Did Not Look Like The Work Of God, But It Might Have Represented The Handicraft Of A God With A Joyous Sense Of Humor, A Dancing God Who Loved Mischief As Much As Prayer, And Playfulness As Much As Mischief.

There Are No Verdicts To Childhood, Only Consequences, And The Bright Freight Of Memory.

I Think I Learned About The Relationship Between Books And Life From Margaret Mitchell.

It's Impossible To Explain To A Yankee What `tacky' Is. They Simply Have No Word For It Up North, But My God, Do They Ever Need One.