Nothing Could Have Survived Our Life.

Pronunciation Has Made Many An Innocent Word Sound Like A Doctor's Orders For A Stomach Pump.

It Seemed To Alabama That, Reaching Her Goal, She Would Drive The Devils That Had Driven Her - That, In Proving Herself, She Would Achieve That Peace Which She Imagined Went Only In Surety Of One’s Self - That She Would Be Able, Through The Medium Of The Dance, To Command Her Emotions, To Summon Love Or Pity Or Happiness At Will, Having Provided A Channel Through Which They Might Flow. She Drove Herself Mercilessly, And The Summer Dragged On.

I Wish I Could Write A Beautiful Book To Break Those Hearts That Are Soon To Cease To Exist: A Book Of Faith And Small Neat Worlds And Of People Who Live By The Philosophies Of Popular Songs.

A Southern Moon Is A Sodden Moon, And Sultry. When It Swamps The Fields And The Rustling Sandy Roads And The Sticky Honeysuckle Hedges In Its Sweet Stagnation, Your Fight To Hold On To Reality Is Like A Protestation Against A First Waft Of Ether.

Most People Hew The Battlements Of Life From Compromise, Erecting Their Impregnable Keeps From Judicious Submissions, Fabricating Their Philosophical Drawbridges From Emotional Retractions And Scalding Marauders In The Boiling Oil Of Sour Grapes.