Quotes from Davis Grubb

It's a hard world for little things.

Not that you mind the killings! There's plenty of killings in your book, Lord..

Lord save little children! They abide.

He thought again of the watch in the window. It had twelve black numbers on its moon face and there was magic to that. For these were numbers that were not really numbers at all but letters like in words. He shivered at the possibilities of such untold magic.

old houses move in their sleep like the dreaming, remembering limbs of very old people. Boards whisper, steps cry out softly to the whispering remembrance of footfalls long gone to earth. Mantelpieces strain gently in the darkness beneath the ghosts of old Christmas stockings. Joists and beams and rafters hunch lightly like the brittle ribs of old women in their sleep: the heart recalling, the worn carpet slippers whispering down the halls again.

It was a warm night for the end of March. Walt had left the front door to the ice-cream parlor open when he went out after supper to gossip with the old men down at Darly Stidger's Store. And yet it was not spring, although winter was dead and the moon was sickly with the neitherness of the time between those seasons: those last few weeks before the cries of the green frogs would rise in stitching clamor from the river shores and meadow bogs.

He thought: Because when you tell a lie it must be to keep from saying a worse thing. Then lying is not a Sin and God will not punish you. (But what if God is one of them?)

I am afraid of Mr. Powell. I am more afraid of him than I have ever been of shadows or the thunder or when you look through the little bubble in the glass of the window in the upstairs hall and all of the out-of-doors stretches and twists its neck.

Miz Cooper says don't pay her no mind because she is most likely one of them Duck River Baptists and probably a Republican ...

Is goodness just for Sundays and is love just for Christmas? Must the living fragrance of human love be packed away with the tree ornaments once Christmas day is past?

It was as if, within that still winter night's vastness a strange soft-feathered bird of passage had come to beat its hopeless wings against the windows of her heart.

Salvation! Why, it's always a last-minute business, boy.

Hate, my gentle lady, said Captain Anschutz, is only Love that has lost its way home in the dark.

Su nombre es Harry Powell. Pero los nombres de sus dedos son R, O, M y A, y O, I, D y O y la historia que cuenta sobre que una mano es Odio y la otra Amor es una mentira, porque las dos son Odio, y verlas moverse me asusta todavía más que las sombras o que el viento.

El Señor guarde a los niños! Pues todos ellos tienen su Predicador que los persigue por el sombrío río del miedo y la imposibilidad de expresar lo que sienten y las puertas cerradas. Todos son mudos y están solos, porque no hay palabras para expresar el miedo de un niño, ni oídos que le presten atención, y, si las hubiera, nadie las entendería aunque las oyera. ¡El Señor guarde a los niños! Los niños lo soportan todo y superan cualquier obstáculo.

He thought: Because when you tell a lie it must be to keep from saying a worse thing. Then lying is not a Sin and God will not punish you. (But what if God is one of them?)