Kathryn Stockett Quotes

Wasn't that the point of the book? For women to realize, We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I'd thought.

Write about what disturbs you, particularly if it bothers no one else.

Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask yourself, "Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?

I always order the banned books from a black market dealer in California, figuring if the State of Mississippi banned them, they must be good.

....I realized I actually had a choice in what I could believe.

Who knew paper and ink could be so vicious

It seems like at some point you'd run out of awful.

Great books give you a feeling that you miss all day, until you finally get to crawl back inside those pages again.

You is kind. You is smart. You is important.

And if your friends make fun of you for chasing your dream, remember—just lie.

All my life I'd been told what to believe about politics, coloreds, being a girl. But with Constantine's thumb pressed in my hand, I realized I actually had a choice in what I could believe.

All I'm saying is, kindness don't have no boundaries.

You're gon' have to say to your self, am I gon' believe what them fools say about me today?

There is no trickier subject for a writer from the South than that of affection between a black person and a white one in the unequal world of segregation. For the dishonesty upon which a society is founded makes every emotion suspect, makes it impossible to know whether what flowed between two people was honest feeling or pity or pragmatism.(Howell Raines's Pulitzer Prize winning article "Grady's Gift")-Sockett admired this quote and used it in her summary.

I always thought insanity would be a dark, bitter feeling, but it is drenching and delicious if you really roll around in it.

Cause everbody care. Black, white, deep down we all do.

I was surprise to see the world didn't stop just cause my boy did.

I grew up in the 1970s, but I don't think a whole lot had changed from the '60s. Oh, it had changed in the law books - but not in the kitchens of white homes.

...out of the blue, he kissed me. Right in the middle of the Robert E. Lee Hotel Restaurant, he kissed me so slowly with an open mouth and every single thing in my body-my skin, my collarbone, the hollow backs of my knees, everything inside of me filled up with light.

She already got the blue dress on I ironed this morning, the one with sixty-five pleats on the waist, so tiny I got to squint through my glasses to iron. I don’t hate much in life, but me and that dress is not on good terms.

The point is, I can’t tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how not to: Give in to the shame of being rejected and put your manuscript—or painting, song, voice, dance moves, [insert passion here]—in the coffin that is your bedside drawer and close it for good. I guarantee you that it won’t take you anywhere. Or you could do what this writer did: Give in to your obsession instead.

I'd cry, if only I had the time to do it.

And why? Because they are suffocating within the lines that define their town and their times. And sometimes lines are made to be crossed.

This woman talk like she from so deep in the country she got corn growing in her shoes.

I used to believe in em (lines). I don't anymore. They in our heads. Lines between black and white ain't there neither. Some folks just made those up, long time ago. And that go for the white trash and the so-ciety ladies too.