“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 Image
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… — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
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… — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
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… — Willie Morris Copy Share Image
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
