She was a good Christian woman with a large respect for religion, though she did not, of course, believe any of it was true.
... the novelist is bound by the reasonable possibilities, not the probabilities, of his culture.
She felt that she would have to be much more than just a doctor or an engineer. She would have to be a saint.
You get a real person down there and his talking will take care of itself.
Kindness and patience were always called for.
I know well enough that very few people who are supposedly interested in writing are interested in writing well. They are interested in publishing something, and if possible in making a "killing." They are interested in being a writer not in writing. . . If this is what you are interested in, I am not going to be much use to you.
There was already a deep black wordless conviction in him that the way to avoid Jesus was to avoid sin.
He knew that he was the stuff of which fanatics and madmen are made and that he had turned his destiny as if with his bare will. He kept himself upright on a very narrow line between madness and emptiness and when the time came for him to lose his balance he intended to lurch toward emptiness and fall on the side of his choice.
Nothing needs to happen to a writer’s life after they are 20. By then they’ve experienced more than enough to last their creative life.
Being a Georgia author is a rather specious dignity, on the same order as, for the pig, being a Talmadge ham.
...I have to write to discover what I am doing. Like the old lady, I don't know so well what I think until I see what I say; then I have to say it again.
The writer can choose what he writes about but he cannot choose what he is able to make live.
The artist uses his reason to discover an answering reason in everything he sees.
Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days.
The Bible was the only book he read. He didn't read it often but when he did he wore his mother's glasses. They tired his eyes so that after a short time he was always obliged to stop.
No art is sunk in the self, but rather, in art the self becomes self-forgetful in order to meet the demands of the thing seen and the thing being made.
It seems that the fiction writer has a revolting attachment to the poor, for even when he writes about the rich, he is more concerned with what they lack than with what they have.
I have almost no capacity for worship. What I have is the knowledge that it is my duty to worship and worship only what I believe to be true.” May 19, 1962
So many people can now write competent stories that the short story is in danger of dying of competence.
My own approach to literary problems is very like the one Dr. Johnson's blind housekeeper used when she poured tea-she put her finger inside the cup.
There's a certain grain of stupidity that the writer of fiction can hardly do without, and this is the quality of having to stare, of not getting the point at once. The longer you look at one object, the more of the world you see in it; and it's well to remember that the serious fiction writer always writes about the whole world.
She looked at nice young men as if she could smell their stupidity.
It is always difficult to get across to people who are not professional writers that a talent to write does not mean a talent to write anything at all.
The only way, I think, to learn to write short stories is to write them, and then try to discover what you have done.
She was a talker, wasn't she?" Bobby Lee said, sliding down the ditch with a yodel. "She would of been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life." "Some fun!" Bobby Lee said. "Shut up, Bobby Lee," The Misfit said. "It's no real pleasure in life.
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