Southern Gothic Quotes

“Later he saw Jesus move from tree to tree in the back of his mind, a wild ragged figure motioning him to turn around and come off into the dark where he might be walking on the water and not know it and then suddenly know it and drown.”
― Flannery O'Connor, Wise Blood

“In the molten fire where he lay he could watch the slow machinations of eternity, the cosmic miracle of each second being born, eggshaped, silverplated, phallic, time thrusting itself gleaming through the worn and worthless husk of the microsecond previous, halting, beginning to show the slow and infinitesimal accreations of decay in the clocking away of life in a mechanism encoded at the moment of conception, withering, shunted aside by time's next orgasmic thrust, and all to the beating of some galactic heart, to voices, a madman's mutterings from a snare in the web of the world.”
― William Gay, The Long Home

“And his soul plunged downward, drowning in that deep pit: he felt that could never again escape from this smothering flood of pain and ugliness, from the eclipsing horror and pity of it all. And as he walked, he twisted his own neck about, and beat the air with his arm like a wing, as if he had received a blow in his kidneys. He felt that he might be clean and free if he could only escape into a single burning passion -- hard, and hot, and glittering -- of love, hatred, terror, or disgust. But he was caught, he was strangling, in the web of futility.”
― Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel

“I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind—and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists sat it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.”
― William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

“My great-grandmother died almost 20 years before I was born. Hit by a train near Branford, FL. A very Southern Gothic way to go. I grew up with her stories. Pinches of snuff filled her mouth. Pinches left bruises on your arm. She was a witch. The black snakes crawled as she whistled. There were nail covered photos on the side of her barn. Songs to the cypress trees. Her daughter shared these things. All told with Affection. Enthusiasm. Awe. There is a life after life for those who are a good story.”
― Damon Thomas

“My great-grandfather Delmar Thomas is buried beside his wife Lula now. Mount Horeb Cemetery near Bell, FL. As a kid I fell into a fire ant mound. Delmar rescued me. I cried. Covered in bites. He just laughed. Told me that is how you learn. This is what I learned.”
― Damon Thomas, Some Books Are Not For Sale

“I'd not be shocked if bad water was the source of all the moody Gothic Lit classics. With a few cases of hookworm to add some Southern spunk.”
― Damon Thomas, Some Books Are Not For Sale

“Many see Southern Gothic literature as just recalling the "bad old days." This is not the case. There are still those places in Florida where you get hookworms by walking barefoot after an afternoon thunderstorm.”
― Damon Thomas, Some Books Are Not For Sale

“A kid burned down the Scout Hut. That old log cabin in the Cross City park. When asked why he just said he was bored. All I knew could relate. Small town boredom. Rural gloom.”
― Damon Thomas, Some Books Are Not For Sale

“There are situations considered "not fit for children." Many I know grew up with these situations. Eight-year-olds with the Sheriff's Office number memorized. Southernness is raking up countless bags of Magnolia leaves knowing you'll eventually get a few blooms.”
― Damon Thomas, Some Books Are Not For Sale

“As kids we went to the Trenton, FL roller skating rink. It is a funeral home now. We all lived a Southern Gothic children's book.”
― Damon Thomas, Some Books Are Not For Sale

“When I was a kid an older guy sat out front of a gas station in Old Town, FL. His favorite story involved roughing up a couple of guys because "you could tell they weren't from around here." The gruesome details were implied as he'd pull out a straight razor and a plastic bag containing Red Devil lye. "Deliverance", the end of "Easy Rider", and every "wrong turn" horror movie would later make more sense because of those childhood stops for gas and a Yoo-hoo.”
― Damon Thomas, Some Books Are Not For Sale

“That's what they mean by the womb of time: the agony and the despair of spreading bones, the hard girdle in which lie the outraged entrails of events.”
― William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

“He was driving into a world where the owls roosted with the chickens. Where folks kept Whip-poor-wills for pets and didn't get the Saturday Night Opry till Monday morning.”
― William Gay, I Hate to See That Evening Sun Go Down: Collected Stories

“A girl sits out-of-doors in her slip./ She turns fourteen, twenty-eight, fifty-six,/ goes crazy.”
― C.D. Wright, Deepstep Come Shining

“And we’d sit in the dry leaves that whispered a little with the slow respiration of our waiting and with the slow breathing of the earth and the windless October, the rank smell of the lantern fouling the brittle air, listening to the dogs and to the echo of Louis’s voice dying away. He never raised it, yet on a still night we have heard it from our front porch. When he called the dogs in he sounded just like the horn he carried slung over his shoulder and never used, but clearer, mellower, as though his voice were a part of darkness and silence, coiling out of it, coiling into it again. WhoOoooo. WhoOoooo. WhoOooooooooooooooo.”
― William Faulkner

“That’s why I started writing this story. Those things were just so heavy. It was impossible to carry around all by myself, my real father, Ray’s abuse, your death, so I took them and wrote them down. I edited them and changed the words around, shaping them into something whole. And then I printed them out onto a page, closed the book, and put it on a shelf. And if someone else read my words, then it meant that I wasn’t alone.”
― Aimee Hardy

“Then, ya should try the gator burger next time. They say that gator tastes like whatever it mostly eats, but ours taste like human flesh. Ya ever ate human flesh? Nah, the way ya look, I reckon not.”
― Ron Albury, Doorway in the Swamp

“This Force isn’t human, and it doesn’t think or act like a human. In fact, we can’t even be sure if this Force thinks at all in the way that we understand thinking. It exists beyond what we can comprehend, and it doesn’t fit neatly into the categories and ideas we use to understand the world.”
― Ron Albury, Doorway in the Swamp

“You are already the kind of beautiful that doesn’t beg to be seen.”
― Maddie Rune, Honey Girl: A Lyrical Southern Gothic Story of Love, Loss, and Redemption

“She didn’t want resurrection. She wanted rest that didn’t require rebirth. She wanted to be seen without being punished for it.”
― Maddie Rune, Honey Girl: A Lyrical Southern Gothic Story of Love, Loss, and Redemption

“She quilted her tears into a blanket no one else had the courage to wrap around her.”
― Maddie Rune, Honey Girl: A Lyrical Southern Gothic Story of Love, Loss, and Redemption

“Once you’ve checked in, you’re already part of it. Welcome to South of the Border. Stay as long as you like. Forever.”
― Thomas Miller

“From The Motel That Eats Time

“You don’t check into this motel to rest—you check in to remember what you were before the world forgot your name.”
― Thomas Miller

“From Lord Darkanon and the Lost Souls

“Evil does not roar from the shadows; it whispers in the hearts of those who once believed they were good.”
― Thomas Miller

“From When Goodness Dies

“Goodness doesn’t vanish—it fades slowly, like the last light in a room where love used to live.”
― Thomas Miller

“You don’t check into this motel to rest—you check in to remember what you were before the world forgot your name.”
— From The Motel That Eats Time by Thomas Miller”
― Thomas Miller, South of the Border The Motel That Eats Time

“A dark Southern Gothic tale of forbidden desire and supernatural vengeance. Within the cursed halls of Chesterson Manor, love turns deadly, and ghosts of the past hunger for redemption.”
― Thomas Miller, The Deadly Lust Of Chesterson Manor : A Story Of Lust Love And Death

“The Man Who Loved Too Much That Killed Him

A tragic psychological story of a man whose love turns into his undoing. This haunting piece explores obsession, loss, and the thin line between devotion and destruction.”
― Thomas Miller

“The Haunting of Palatka

A ghostly anthology rooted in local lore and Southern mystique. Spirits wander the streets, bridges, and parks of Palatka, whispering stories of love, revenge, and eternal unrest.”
― Thomas Miller