The Climate Of Our Culture Is Changing.

You Give Me The Feeling That The Universe Was Made By Something More Than Human For Something Less Than Human. But I Identify Myself, As Always, With Something That There's Something Wrong With, With Something Human.

The Southern Past, The Southern Present, The Southern Future, Concentrated Into Gertrude's Voice, Became One Of Red Clay Pine-barrens, Of Chain-gang Camps, Of Housewives Dressed In Flour Sacks Who Stare All Day Dully Down Into Dirty Sinks.

People Had Always Seemed To Gertrude Rather Like The Beasts In Animal Farm : All Equally Detestable, But Some More Equally Detestable Than Others.

If We Were In The Habit Of Reading Poets Their Obscurity Would Not Matter; And, Once We Are Out Of The Habit, Their Clarity Does Not Help.

There Is In This World No Line So Bad That Someone Won't Someday Copy It.