When a wave of love takes over a human being... such an exaltation takes him that he knows he has put his finger on the pulse of the great secret and the great answer.
We need above all, I think, a certain remoteness from urban confusion.
A part of the placidity of the South comes from the sense of well-being that follows the heart-and-body-warming consumption of breads fresh from the oven. We serve cold baker's bread to our enemies, trusting that they will never impose on our hospitality again.
The individual man is transitory, but the pulse of life and of growth goes on after he is gone, buried under a wreath of magnolia leaves.
I can only tell you that when long soul-searching and a combination of circumstances delivered me of my last prejudices, there was an exalted sense of liberation. It was not the Negro who became free, but I.
No man should have proprietary rights over land who does not use that land wisely and lovingly.
Writing is agony for me. I work at it eight hours every day, hoping to get six pages, but I am satisfied with three.
For un-subscribe please check the mail footer.