Quote

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.

Kathryn Stockett

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Kathryn Stockett
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Jackson
Mississippi
Kids
Missing
Politic
Done
Clothes
Tees
Things
Hear
Jackie
Talk
Kennedy
Word
Discussing
Friends
Wore
Talking
Ladies
Three
Miss

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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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Ugly live up on the inside. Ugly be a hurtful, mean person.
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Everyone knows how we white people feel, the glorified Mammy figure who dedicates her whole life to a white family. Margaret Mitchell covered that. But no one ever asked Mammy how she felt about it.
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I'm sorry, but were you dropped on your head as an infant?
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I do wish that people talked about the subject of race, especially in the South.
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I look deep into her rich brown eyes and she look into mine. Law, she got old-soul eyes, like she done lived a thousand years. And I swear I see, down inside, the woman she gone grow up to be. She is tall and straight. She is proud. She got a better haircut. And she is remembering the words I put in her head. Remembering as a full-grown woman.
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I hear Raleigh's new accounting business isn't doing well. Maybe up in New York or somewhere it's a good thing, but in Jackson, Mississippi, people just don't care to do business with a rude, condescending asshole.
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It can be really powerful to write something when youre sad.
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Sorry is the fool who ever underestimates my mother.
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I reckon that’s the risk you run, letting somebody else raise you chilluns.
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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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it always sound scarier when a hollerer talk soft.
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Great books give you a feeling that you miss all day, until you finally get to crawl back inside those pages again.
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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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At one O'Clock, Miss Celia comes in the kitchen and says she's ready for her first cooking lesson. She settles on a stool. She's wearing a tight red sweater and a red skirt and enough makeup to scare a hooker.
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They say it's like true love, good help. You only get one in a lifetime.
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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.
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I want to yell so loud that Baby Girl can hear me that dirty ain't a color, disease ain't the Negro side a town. I want to stop that moment from coming - and it come in ever white child's life - when they start to think that colored folks ain't as good as whites. ... I pray that wasn't her moment, Pray I still got time.
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I have decided not to die.
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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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