Quotes on south

It was always so hot, and everyone was so polite, and everything was all surface but underneath it was like a bomb waiting to go off. I always felt that way about the South, that beneath the smiles and southern hospitality and politeness were a lot of guns and liquor and secrets.

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The ranks opened covertly to avoid the corpse. The invulnerable dead man forced a way for himself. The youth looked keenly at the ashen face. The wind raised the tawny beard. It moved as if a hand were stroking it. He vaguely desired to walk around and around the body and stare; the impulse of the living to try to read in dead eyes the answer to the Question.

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We got out of the car for air and suddenly both of us were stoned with joy to realize that in the darkness all around us was fragrant green grass and the smell of fresh manure and warm waters. 'We're in the South! We've left the winter!' Faint daybreak illuminated green shoots by the side of the road. I took a deep breath; a locomotive howled across the darkness, mobile-bound. So were we. I took off my shirt and exulted

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The way he talked about moving south reminded us of the Joads in Grapes of Wrath. He was a smart kid, but all he was thinking about was peaches.-Only Shot At A Good Tombstone, page 24

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The women of the South have brought into American literature a unique mixture of domesticity and grotesquerie.

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Everyone in the South has no time for reading because they are all too busy writing.

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Could you just imagine? If every suicide rose--think of Faulkner's Quentin Compson as a vampire. I don't hate the South I don't I don't. She wondered how they'd have worked it out in Cambridge when Quentin threw himself off the Andersen bridge into the Charles amid the odor of the honeysuckle, not the beer, sweat, rum, and tainted magnolias of this city, precariously beneath the level of the water. The Compson blood had thinned out; at least this way, he's restore it after a fashion.

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In the distance of my years I cover myself with timeLike a blanket which enfolds me with the layers of my life. What can I tell you except that I have gonenowhere and everywhere?What can I tell you except that I have not begunmy journey now that it is through?All that I ever was and am yet to belies within me now this way. There is the Young Boy in me traveling eastWith the Eagle which taught me to see far and wide. The Eagle took his distance and said, There is a Time for Rising AboveSo that you do not thinkYour small world too important. There is a time for turning your vision toward the sky. There is the Young Girl in me traveling westWith the Bear which taught me to look inside. The Bear stood by himself and said, There is a Time for Being AloneSo that you do not take onThe appearance of your friends. There is a time for being at home with yourself. There is the Old Man in me traveling northWith the Buffalo which taught me wisdom. The Buffalo disappeared and said, There is a Time for Believing NothingSo that you do not speakWhat you have already heard. There is a Time for Keeping Quiet. There is the Old Woman in me traveling southWith the Mouse which taught me my limitations. The Mouse lay close to the ground and said, There is a Time for Taking Comfort in Small ThingsSo that you do not feelForgotten in the night. There is a Time for enjoying the Worm. That is the way it was. That is the way it shall continueWith the Eagle and the BearWith the Buffalo and the MouseIn all directions joined with meTo form the circle of my life.I am an Eagle. The small world laughs at my deeds. But the great sky keeps to itselfMy thoughts of immortality.I am a Bear. In my solitude I resemble the wind.I blow the clouds togetherSo they form images of my friends.I am a Buffalo. My voice echoes inside my mouth. All that I have learned in lifeI share with the smoke of my fire.I am a Mouse. My life is beneath my nose. Each time that I journey toward the horizonI find a hole instead.

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