-
It was like she was cheated. Only nobody had cheated her. So there was nobody to take it out on. However, just the same she had that feeling. Cheated.
-
The human heart is a lonely hunter-but the search for us southerners is more anguished.
-
Coming down was the hardest part of any climbing.
-
Sunday afternoons are the longest afternoons of all.
-
But all the time-no matter what she was doing-there was music.
-
There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.
-
The memories of childhood have a strange shuttling quality, and areas of darkness ring the spaces of light. The memories of childhood are like clear candles in an acre of night, illuminating fixed scenes from surrounding darkness.
-
Writing, for me, is a search for God.