The past is never dead. It’s not even past.
So vast, so limitless in capacity is man’s imagination to disperse and burn away the rubble-dross of fact and probability, leaving only truth and dream.
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.
People. They’re really innately, inherently gentle and compassionate and kind. That’s what wrings, wrenches… something. Your entrails, maybe. The member of the mob who holds up the whole ceremony for seconds or even minutes while he dislodges a family of bugs or lizards from the log he is about to put on the fire.
Menfolks listens to somebody because of what he says. Women don’t. They don’t care what he said. They listens because of what he is.
Maybe the only thing worse than having to give gratitude constantly is having to accept it.
Government was founded on the working premise of being primarily an asylum for ineptitude and indigence, for the private business failures among your or your wife’s kin whom otherwise you yourself would have to support.
