Quotes About Author

Don't take in no strangers while I'm gone. She sighed deeply. They ain't a soul in this world but what is a stranger to me, she said.

Do you think God knows what's happenin? I expect he does. You think he can stop it? No. I dont.

where'd you get that pistol? At the gettin place

All the trouble I ever was in, said Ballard, was caused by whiskey or women or both.

But the kid only spat into the darkness of the space between them. I know your kind, he said. What's wrong with you is wrong all the way through you.

Teaching writing is a hustle.

He walked out on the beach to the edge of the light and stood with his clenched fists on top of his skull and fell to his knees sobbing in rage.

Writing is very subconscious and the last thing I want to do is think about it.

War is the ultimate game because war is at last a forcing of the unity of existence. War is God.

Commend him gently, whom the wrath he suckled at his heart has wasted more than years.

The judge like a great ponderous djinn stepped through the fire and the flames delivered him up as if he were in some way native to their element.

Diabolical on the other hand is all but synonymous with ingenious. What Satan had for sale in the garden was knowledge.

If there is an occupational hazard to writing, it's drinking.

There is mass hatred and there is mass grief. Mass vengeance and even mass suicide. But there is no mass forgiveness. There is only you.

In an ideal world the gossip of the idle would be of no consequence. But I have seen the consequences in the real world and they can be very grave indeed.

And of course it's true that any number of these books were penned in lieu of burning down the world—which was their author's true desire. But the real question is are we few the last of a lineage? Will children yet to come harbor a longing for a thing they cannot even name?

Still, I've got to hand it to you. As the trick said to the blind hooker.

Will you hide me? Hide you? Yes. The kid spat. You caint hide. Where you goin to hide at? Will he come back? I dont know. This is a terrible place to die in. Where's a good one?

dont know. I know that you can make a good case that all of human sorrow is grounded in injustice. And that sorrow is what is left when rage is expended and found to be impotent.

one pounding coffeebeans in a buckskin with a rock while the others stared into the fire with eyes as black as gunbores.

In their images they had thought to find some small immortality but oblivion cannot be appeased.

He'd bivouacked on the north side of the town

This is him, cried the reverend, sobbing. This is him. The devil. Here he stands.

They camped that night on the foreplain at the foot of a talus slope and the murder that had been reckoned upon took place.