William Packard Surely Must Be One Of

To Say That Its Wrong To Feel This Way Is Not The Point; You Do Feel It. All You See Is A Flash Of Fire And, Depending On Your Altitude, You Don't Even See That Sometimes.

What A View, I Said Again. The River Was Blank And Mindless With Beauty. It Was The Most Glorious Thing I Have Ever Seen. But It Was Not Seeing, Really. For Once It Was Not Just Seeing. It Was Beholding. I Beheld The River In Its Icy Pit Of Brightness, In Its Far-below Sound And Indifference, In Its Large Coil And Tiny Points And Flashes Of The Moon, In Its Long Sinuous Form, In Its Uncomprehending Consequence.

There Ain't Nothin' To Dyin', Really. You Just Get Tired. You Kind Of Drift Away.

I Don’t Believe That A Reviewer Or A Critic Can Really Criticize Well Unless He Can Praise Well.

The Women Of The South Have Brought Into American Literature A Unique Mixture Of Domesticity And Grotesquerie.