Quotes About Southern

I came from the Sticks, literally. I grew up in Oglethorpe County, Georgia, just outside Athens, Georgia.

I grew up partially around Stone Mountain, Georgia, and in that part of the country, there was always this aura of mythology and palpable sense of otherness about being a Southerner.

Two of my favorite bands, Blackberry Smoke and Black Stone Cherry, I just think both of those bands are a good new progressive kind of Southern Rock that's a little different than us but still has a rootsy thing going on.

When you grow up in Atlanta, joining Lynyrd Skynyrd is like joining the Rolling Stones.

We were taking some photos one day in front of one of these old antebellum homes, and one of us said the word. And we all kind of stopped and said, 'That could be a name!' ... It just feels kind of country and nostalgic.

I thought I had to write literature and add my name to the list of great Southern storytellers. Fortunately for me, no one wanted to read any of those stories. They got rejected by everyone. Sometimes, I would get a note saying they liked the writing, but the story simply didn't work.

My take on rap is driven by straightforward American southern rock and blues.

When we said we were going to do something "directly," which is pronounced "dreckly," we meant that we were going to get to it sooner or later, one of these days, maybe never, and please don't ask again.

Indiana was the most Southern of Northern states—North Dixie

I'm an oddball Georgia working guy.

Growing up in the South, we say 'Yes Ma'am' and 'No Ma'am.' Here in Hollywood, people get offended.

A rose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks. Quick breath parted the petals of her lips. They trembled. Some southern wind of passion swept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress. I love him, she said simply.

porque en tu pecho austral están tatuadas la lucha, la esperanza, la solidaridad y la alegría como anclas que resisten las olas de la tierra.

Potato salad in the South is nothing less than the principal smuggler of cholesterol into the festive, careless heart. It is pure poison beneath the facade of bland puritan propriety. It is the food of choice at any food banquet of smiling relatives who celebrate tacitly among themselves the dark twining of two of their promising youth.

There are no ideas in the South, just barbecue.

My mother, Southern to the bone, once told me, "All Southern literature can be summed up in these words: 'On the night the hogs ate Willie, Mama died when she heard what Daddy did to Sister.'" She raised me up to be a Southern writer, but it wasn't easy.

It's the southern way, Doctor." "The southern way?" she said. "My mother's immortal phrase. We laugh when the pain gets too much. We laugh when the pity of human life gets too . . . pitiful. We laugh when there's nothing else to do." "When do you weep . . . according to the southern way?" "After we laugh, Doctor. Always. Always after we laugh.

A portion of guilt is standard issue for southern boys; our whole lives are convoluted, egregious apologies to our mothers because our fathers have made us such flawed husbands.

In every southerner, beneath the veneer of clichés lies a much deeper motherlode of cliché. But even cliché is overlaid with enormous power when a child is involved.

Southerners had a long tradition of looking for religious significance in even the most humble forms of nature, and I always preferred the explanations of folklore to the icy interpretations of science.

Among the peoples of the world I am not universally admired for the bell-like clarity of my diction. Words slide out of my mouth like fat fish. Having lived my life in various parts of Georgia, Virginia, and the Carolinas and having been sired by a gruff-talking Marine from Chicago and a grits-and-gravy honey from Rome, Georgia, what has remained is an indefinable nonspeech, flavored subtly with a nonaccent, and decipherable to no one, black or white, on the American continent.

Nothing so affects a small town as the loss of its rarest and finest man. Nothing so affects a southern family as the death of the man who lent it balance and fragility in a world askew with corrupt values. His faith had always been a form of splendid madness and his love affair with the world was a hymn of eloquent praise to the lamb who made him.

La manière sudiste? dit-elle. - L'immortelle expression chère à ma mère. Nous rions quand la douleur se fait trop forte. Nous rions quand la pitié de l'humaine condition devient trop pitoyable. Nous rions quand il n'y a rien d'autre à faire.

I know that Southern redhead type," Bruno said, poking at his apple pie.