Quotes About Flannery O'Connor

In 1964, at the age of 39, Flannery O'Connor died from complications of lupus. She had lived with this autoimmune disease for 14 years, primarily confined to her mother's farm, Andalusia, in Milledgeville, Ga.

Your criticism sounds to me as if you have read too many critical books and are too smart in an artificial, destructive, and very limited way.

I come from a family where the only emotion respectable to show is irritation. In some this tendency produces hives, in others literature, in me both.

She was a talker, wasn't she? Bobby Lee said, sliding down the ditch with a yodel. She would of been a good woman, The Misfit said, if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life. Some fun! Bobby Lee said. Shut up, Bobby Lee, The Misfit said. It's no real pleasure in life.

You may ask, why not simply call this literature Christian? Unfortunately, the word Christian is no longer reliable. It has come to mean anyone with a golden heart. And a golden heart would be a positive interference in the writing of fiction.

A perception is not a story, and no amount of sensitivity can make a story-writer out of you if you just plain don't have a gift for telling a story.

To his mind, an opportunity to insult a successful ape cam from the hand of Providence.

If I had to live in a city I think I would prefer New Orleans to any other--both Southern and Catholic and with indications that the Devil's existence is freely recognized.

Early in 1955 Flannery completed work on her second book, a collection of these stories which she entitled A Good Man Is Hard to Find. In January we sent it to press, having set publication for June. I remember our amusement at Evelyn Waugh's reaction to the advance proofs we sent him: "If these stories are in fact the work of a young lady, they are indeed remarkable.

The horrible thought she had had before the accident was that the house she had remembered so vividly was not in Georgia but in Tennessee.

Flannery O'Connor considered herself "a very innocent speller." Spelling has therefore been corrected in this transcription of A Prayer Journal, so that the reader is not distracted.

Lemme tell you something: there ain't any place in the world for a poor disabled friendless drifting man." The ugly words settled in Mr. Shiftlet's head like a group of buzzards in the top of a tree. He didn't answer at once. He rolled himself

Ever since Albert was denied promotion to full-professor rank, his articles on Flannery O'Connor ("A Good Man Really Is Hard to Find," "Everything That Rises Must Indeed Converge," and "The Totemic South: The Violent Actually Do Bear It Away!") failing to meet with collegial acclaim, he has become determined to serve others, passing out the notices and memoranda, arranging the punch and cookies at various receptions.

... the main concern of the fiction writer is with mystery as it is incarnated in human life.

The bookshelves were lined with Joan Didion and Flannery O'Connor, a small, unexpected collection of musicalia, essay collections on Leonard Cohen and Neil Young. There was a framed poster of an exhibit of romantic landscape paintings in Dresden. Intellectuals had their own thing going, that was for sure.

I learned to be a regional writer by reading people like Flannery O'Connor. She was a huge influence.

Flannery O'Connor's brief life and slim output were nonetheless marked by piercing powers of observation.

I've always been drawn to dark stories. I enjoy reading Flannery O'Connor, Patricia Highsmith, and Margaret Mitchell.

'Orthodoxy' is the seminal book of ideas in my life. That book I've read more than any other book. It's the spinal column that leads up to my brain and informs the way I think. Flannery O'Connor is my favorite American writer.

Flannery O'Connor is my creative hero. I think she's the greatest American writer. Her book, 'Mystery and Manners,' is my creative bible.

I don't want to pretend like I'm some intellectual person who understands Flannery O'Connor.

Louis said, "There ought to be a comic book about geeks." Dr. McNaughton said, "There are books about geeks." He said, "There are?" Dr. McNaughton said, "I'll read you some Faulkner sometime. I'll read you some Eudora Welty, some Flannery O'Connor. Geeks, midgets, anything your heart desires. Better than comic books." Louis looked at his father. He said, "You'll read to me? Really?

And if the student finds that this is not to his taste well that is regrettable. Most regrettable. His taste should not be consulted it is being formed.

I come from a family where the only emotion respectable to show is irritation. In some this tendency produces hives, in others literature, in me both.