Home may be where the heart is but it's no place to spend Wednesday afternoon.
Hatred strikes me as one of the few signs of life remaining in the world. This is another thing about the world which is upsidedown: all the friendly and likable people seem dead to me; only the haters seem alive.
Boredom is the self being stuffed with itself.
If poets often commit suicide, it is not because their poems are bad but because they are good. Whoever heard of a bad poet committing suicide? The reader is only a little better off. The exhilaration of a good poem lasts twenty minutes, an hour at most. Unlike the scientist, the artist has reentry problems that are frequent and catastrophic.
My mother refused to let me fail. So I insisted.
Suppose you ask God for a miracle and God says yes, very well. How do you live the rest of your life?
Free people have a serious problem with place, being in a place, using up a place, deciding which new place to rotate to. Americans ricochet around the United States like billiard balls.
Bourbon does for me what the piece of cake did for Proust.
In this world, goodness is destined to be defeated.
Why is it that one can look at a lion or a planet or an owl or at someone's finger as long as one pleases, but looking into the eyes of another person is, if prolonged past a second, a perilous affair?
What nuns don't realize is that they look better in nun clothes than J.C. Penney pantsuits.
There is no pain on this earth like seeing the same woman look at another man the way she once looked at you.
The conviction: I will not tolerate this age. The freedom: the freedom to act on my conviction. And I will act. No one else has both the conviction and the freedom. Many agree with me, have the conviction, but will not act. Some act, assassinate, bomb, burn, etc., but they are the crazies. Crazy acts by crazy people. But what if one, sober, reasonable, and honorable man should act, and act with perfect sobriety, reason, and honor? Then you have the beginning of a new age. We shall start a new order of things.
Nobody but a Southerner knows the wrenching rinsing sadness of the cities of the North.
I couldn't stand it. I still can't stand it. I can't stand the way things are. I cannot tolerate this age.
Nowadays when a person lives somewhere, in a neighborhood, the place is not certified for him. More than likely he will live there sadly and the emptiness which is inside him will expand until it evacuates the entire neighborhood. But if he sees a movie which shows his very neighborhood, it becomes possible for him to live, for a time at least, as a person who is Somewhere and not Anywhere.
Peace is only better than war when it's not hell too. War being hell makes sense.
I had discovered that a person does not have to be this or be that or be anything, not even oneself. One is free.
The enduring is something which must be accounted for. One cannot simply shrug it off.
Losing hope is not so bad. There's something worse: losing hope and hiding it from yourself.
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.
Why has the South produced so many good writers? Because we got beat.
Consciously cultivate the ordinary.
Bad books always lie. They lie most of all about the human condition.
Have you noticed that only in time of illness or disaster or death are people real? I remember at the time of the wreck-- people were so kind and helpful and solid. Everyone pretended that our lives until that moment had been every bit as real as the moment itself and that the future must be real too, when the truth was that our reality had been purchased only by Lyell's death. In another hour or so we had all faded out again and gone our dim ways.
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