Preston Black couldn’t sleep the whole night through, Preston Black couldn’t sleep the whole night through. He’d lay in bed ’til the morning came, but the devil’d visit him just the same. Preston Black couldn’t...

What on earth would I do if four bears came into my camp? Why, I would die of course. Literally shit myself lifeless.

We’re all Hitler inside. We’re all Christ inside. I’m not keen on the idea, but it’s true, isn’t it? We’ve all got a little bit of the devil in us.

If it ran, a Bean would shoot it. If it fell, a Bean would eat it.

True, beneath the human façade, I was an interloper, an alien whose ship had crashed beyond hope of repair in the backwoods of Southern Appalachia—but at least I’d learned to walk and talk enough like...

If it ran, a Bean would eat it. If it fell, a Bean would eat it.

Finally, we entered Chetaube County, my imaginary birthplace, where the names of the little winding roads and minuscule mountain communities never failed to inspire me: Yardscrabble, Big Log, Upper, Middle and Lower Pigsty, Chicken Scratch,...

It was still late summer elsewhere, but here, high in Appalachia, fall was coming; for the last three mornings, she’d been able to see her breath. The woods, which started twenty feet back from her...

It’s Coke, my man. You really think I’m going to let you pour any more alcohol into your body tonight?

Nothing else in the whole wide world matters as much as avenging your sister.

Yeah, but a hellbender never dies. You ever see a dead one?

Music lets you write your own checks. Don’t ever forget that.

Here’s how I’ll tell you what I think—if you see white smoke then you know I picked a new pope. And if I’m drinking a Snapple then you know I don’t give a shit.

You are not a handgun. More like a pellet gun. Maybe even a slingshot.