Quote Originally Posted by bobsticks
Flannery O'Connor kils me...I remember his work as being like Hemmingway on thorazine in search of a therapist at a hoorenanny...

It was a cold, cold day on Erskine Bol's farm as he limped through the pain of his wooden appendage. "T'aint but a thing" he growled to no one in particular as he approached the vine encrusted hubble where inside he would find the remembrances of a life long ago lost. Chastity Purehart would never understand the great endeavor, one meaningless year after the next dragging through this impentrable Applachian winter existing the only way he knew, a nameless construct, the details on his mannequin exterior changing with the auburn leaves...

I loll'd...
"The girl had taken the Ph.D. in philosophy and this left Mrs. Hopewell at a complete loss. You could say, 'My daughter is a nurse,' or 'My daughter is a school teacher,' or even, 'My daughter is a chemical engineer.' You could not say, 'My daughter is a philosopher.' That was something that had ended with the Greeks and Romans."