A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
Buttercup's mother whirled on him. 'Did you forget to pay your taxes?' (This was after taxes. But everything is after taxes. Taxes were here even before stew. )
Writing is finally about one thing: going into a room alone and doing it. Putting words on paper that have never been there in quite that way before. And although you are physically by yourself, the haunting Demon never leaves you, that Demon being the knowledge of your own terrible limitations, your hopeless inadequacy, the impossibility of ever getting it right. No matter how diamond-bright your ideas are dancing in your brain, on paper they are earthbound.
Nobody knows anything. . . . . . Not one person in the entire motion picture field knows for a certainty what's going to work. Every time out it's a guess and, if you're lucky, an educated one.
Her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high.
A good writer is not someone who knows how to write- but how to rewrite
Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.
We tend to become like the worst in those we oppose.
I feel like so much of what happened in the Delta over the decades since slavery was abolished seems much closer in the Delta, and maybe that's because sharecropping was a fairly recent phenomena. I feel like the past is closer and it bears even more heavily on the present there than it does in the rest of the state.
This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into veins of peoples normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love.
Jesus Christ knew the only way He would stop Satan is by becoming one in nature with him. . . He became one with the nature of Satan, so all those who had the nature of Satan can partake of the nature of God.