To the man grown the long crowded mile of his boyhood becomes less than the throw of a stone.
Time is a fluid condition which has no existence except in the momentary avatars of individual people. There is no such thing as was – only is.
They say that it is the practiced liar who can deceive. But so often the practiced and chronic liar deceives only himself; it is the man who all his life has been selfconvicted of veracity whose lies find quickest credence.
There is that might-have-been which is the single rock we cling to above the maelstrom of unbearable reality.
There is no such thing as memory: the brain recalls just what the muscles grope for: no more, no less: and its resultant sum is usually incorrect and false and worthy only of the name of dream.
There are some things that just have to be whether they are or not, have to be a damn sight more than some other things that are and it don’t matter a damn whether they are or not.
There are some things for which three words are three too many, and three thousand words that many words too less.
The thing is, to make up your mind you will always be a little cold even in bed and just go on about your business and after a while you will get used to it and forget it and then you wont even notice you are cold because you will have forgotten what being warm was ever like.
The reason you will not say it is, when you say it, even to yourself, you will know it is true.
The reason for living was to get ready to stay dead a long time.
The destiny of the land, the nation, the South, the State, the County, was already whirling into the plunge of its precipice, not that the State and the South knew it, because the first seconds of fall always seem like soar.
That which is destroying the Church is not the outward groping of those within it nor the inward groping of those without, but the professionals who control it and who have removed the bells from its steeples.
