66 Quotes About Southern-writers

There is an old saying that every story, even your own, is either happy or sad depending on where you stop telling it. I believe I'll stop telling this one here.

Ready, the boy climbs the ladder,makes his way to the edgeand full of faith-- he leaps--expecting flight,finding hot tearsin a red capethat doesn't work.

paint the pony I will ridesoft hues that gather childhoodand thrust forward, to nowhereback again, we turnto plunking calliope tuneloud, round notes, we lift higherhollowed ponies with painted ribbonsbetween our thighs,laughter in her eyes-- from 'Paint the Dancing Pony' (a poem)

I do not want to livein a world without butterflies.Without the intricate eyes and velvety wings,graceful splashes of color dancing on the breeze.Airy, delicate keepers of hope.Metamorphic symbols of change, growth, maturation.... I do not want this world without the butterflies.I could not bear the wailingof flowers.--from 'A World Without Butterflies' (a poem)

When I got off the train back home, I saw the WHITE and COLORED signs that had been there all along, as it it was the first time.

I don't know which hurt more: his rejection, his punch, or my own elder siblings laughing at my pain.

Every town has ‘THAT house’: the one that once held dark secrets. You know the house… the one no one will purchase? The one whose walls have seen blood? The one that even birds avoid, and the darkened windows resemble empty eye sockets? There are furtive, yet insistent, whispers about ‘that’ house, murmurs that perhaps the house is best left alone, lest the dark stain left upon that abode’s history seep into our own present-day.

He ascended the mountain in darkness, no lamplight, a world black and silver and blue. The moon lay scattered through the woods in blades, glowing palely, the wind rising now and again to moan through the trees. The trail scrawled ever upward, toward the looming darkness of the mountain's peak. Above it all the sea of night, the strange ornamentation of stars.

Farm labor had stained his hands, but music stained his heart.