After 'The Poisonwood Bible' was published, several people believed that my parents were missionaries, which could not be further from the truth.

When the Bible was first published, bathhouses were mandatory, no one could read, and only the people in the Church could write.

The truth needs so little rehearsal.

Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.

Pain reaches the heart with electrical speed, but truth moves to the heart as slowly as a glacier.

I live in southern Appalachia, so I'm surrounded by people who work very hard for barely a living wage. It's particularly painful that people are working the farms their parents and grandparents worked but aren't living nearly as well.