When they turned off, it was still early in the pink and green fields. The fumes of morning, sweet and bitter, sprang up where they walked. The insects ticked softly, their strength in reserve; butterflies chopped the air, going to… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“She (my mother) could still recite them (the poems) in full when she was lying helpless and nearly blind, in her bed, an old… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
Long before I wrote stories, I listened for stories. Listening for them is something more acute than listening to them. I suppose it’s an… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
Once you're into a story everything seems to apply-what you overhear on a city bus is exactly what your character would say on the… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“Two by two, I read library books as fast as I could go, rushing them home in the basket of my bicycle. From the… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“When somebody, no matter who, gives everything, it makes people feel ashamed for him.” — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“Daydreaming had started me on the way; but story writing, once I was truly in its grip, took me and shook me awake.” — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“All children in those small-town, unhurried days had a vast inner life going on in the movies. Children were allowed to go without chaperone… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“At the sting in her eyes, she remembered for him that there must be no tears in his.” — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“We do need to bring to our writing, over and over again, all the abundance we possess. To be able, to be ready, to… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“When one of us (children) caught measles or whooping cough and we were isolated in bad upstairs, we wrote notes to each other perhaps… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“She (my mother) stood always prepared in herself to challenge the world in our place. She did indeed tend to make the world look… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
