I Like Nonfiction Books About People With

What Other People Call Dark And Despairing, I Call Funny.

I Giggled Out Loud At His Stupidity. If Anyone Knew How To Make A Bed, It Was A Faggot.

“this Is Hurting Me A Lot More Than It’s Hurting You,” He Said. It Was His Standard Line, But I Knew That This Time He Was Right. Worse Than The Boil Was The Stuff That Came Out Of It. What Got To Me, And Got To Him Even Worse, Was The Stench, Which Was Unbearable, And Unlike Anything I Had Come Across Before. It Was, I Thought, What Evil Must Smell Like - Not An Evil Person But The Wicked Ideas That Have Made Him That Way. How Could A Person Continue To Live With Something So Rotten Inside? And So Much Of It!

Because I've Always Been A Fairly Nervous Person.

No One Writes Dialect Better Than Flannery O'connor. No One Should Even Try.