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Truth. It feels cool, like water washing over my sticky-hot body. Cooling a heat that's been burning me up all my life. Truth, I say inside my head again, just for that feeling.

Kathryn Stockett

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Kathryn Stockett
Age: 56
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Jackson
Mississippi
Life
Inside
Like
Head
Cooling
Feeling
Sticky
Water
Washing
Feelings
Heat
Truth
Hot
Body
Burning
Feels
Cool

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....I realized I actually had a choice in what I could believe.
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Baby Girl, I say. I need you remember everything I told you. Do you remember what I told you? She still crying steady, but the hiccups are gone. To wipe my bottom good when I'm done? No, baby, the other one. About who you are.
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She dumb.” I sigh. “But she ain’t stupid.
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No one tells us, girls who don't go on dates, that remembering can be almost as good as what actually happens.
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I nursed a worthless, pint drinker for twelve years and when my lazy, life-sucking, daddy finally died, I swore to God with tears in my eyes I'd never marry one. And then I did.
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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?
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I was surprise to see the world didn't stop just cause my boy did.
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Only three things them ladies talk about: they kids, they clothes, and they friends. I hear the word Kennedy, I know they ain’t discussing no politic. They talking about what Miss Jackie done wore on the tee-vee.
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I'm sorry, but were you dropped on your head as an infant?
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Her nose wrinkle up cause now she got to remember to say she Mae Mobley Three, when her whole life she can remember, she been telling people she Mae Mobley Two. When you little, you only get asked two questions, what's your name and how old you is, so you better get em right.
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Mother calls up the stairs to ask what in the world I'm typing up there all day and I holler down, 'Just typing up some notes from the Bible study. Just writing down all the things I love about Jesus.
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Shame ain't black, like dirt, like I always thought it was. Shame be the color of a new white uniform your mother ironed all night to pay for, white without a smudge or a speck a work-dirt on it.
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As children, we looked up to our maids and our nannies, who were playing in some ways the role of our mothers. They were paid to be nice to us, to look after us, teach us things and take time out of their day to be with us. As a child you think of these people as an extension of your mother.
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...and that's when I get to wondering, what would happen if I told her she something good, ever day?
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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.
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I do wish that people talked about the subject of race, especially in the South.
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The day your child says she hates you, and every child will go through the phase, it kicks like a foot in the stomach.
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Who knew heartbreak would be so goddamn hot.
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I've become one of those people who prowl around at night in their cars. God, I am the town's Boo Radley, just like in To Kill A Mockingbird.
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When you little, you only get asked two questions, what’s your name and how old you is, so you better get em right.
Kathryn Stockett