“And it was to this city, whenever I went home, that I always knew I must return, for it was mistress of one's wildest hopes, protector of one's deepest privacies. It was half insane with its noise, violence, and decay,… — Willie Morris Copy Share
When I started driving our old four-door green DeSoto, I always took Skip on my trips around town. I would get Skip to prop himself against the steering wheel, his black head peering out of the windshield, while I crouched out of sight under the dashboard. Slowing the car to ten or fifteen, I would guide the steering wheel with… — Willie Morris Copy Share
When a writer knows home in his heart, his heart must remain subtly apart from it. — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
My mother's people, the people who captured my imagination when I was growing up, were of the Deep South - emotional, changeable, touched with charisma and given to histrionic flourishes. They were courageous under tension and unexpectedly tough beneath their wild eccentricities, for they had and unusually close working agreement with God. They also had an unusually high quota of… — Willie Morris Copy Share
I came across a photograph of him not long ago... his black face, the long snout sniffing at something in the air, his tail… — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
“And it was to this city, whenever I went home, that I always knew I must return, for it was mistress of one's wildest hopes, protector of one's deepest privacies. It was half insane with its noise, violence, and decay, but it gave one the tender security of fulfillment. On winter afternoons, from my office, there were sunsets across Manhattan… — Willie Morris Copy Share
His claim to his home is deep, but there are too many ghosts. He must absorb without being absorbed. — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
“They had buried him under our elm tree, they said -- yet this was not totally true. For he really lay buried in my… — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
I can think of no one more qualified to write about the modern South than Curtis Wilkie — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
The dog of your boyhood teaches you a great deal about friendship, and love, and death: Old Skip was my brother. They had buried… — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
As with many Southern Writers, I believe that the special quality of the land itself indelibly shapes the people who dwell upon it. — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
I have always had a love for American geography, and especially for the landscapes of the South. One of my pleasures has been to… — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
