Quotes from William Faulkner

the long sleep that outlasts love

Behind the smokehouse that summer, Ringo and I had a living map. Although Vicksburg was just a handful of chips from the woodpile and the River a trench scraped into the packed earth with the point of a hoe, it (river, city, and terrain) lived, possessing even in miniature that ponderable though massive recalcitrance of topography which outweighs artillery, against which the most brilliant of victories and the most tragic of defeats are but the loud noises of the moment.

Show me the man what aint going to die, bless Jesus.

When the Negro opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray.

In my opinion it's a shame that there is so much work in the world. One of the saddest things is that the only thing that a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. You can't eat eight hours a day nor drink for eight hours a day nor make love for eight hours — all you can do for eight hours is work. Which is the reason why man makes himself and everybody else so miserable and unhappy.

They came on. I opened the gate and they stopped. turning. I was trying to say, and I caught her, trying to say, and she screamed and I was trying to say and trying and the bright shapes were going again. They were going up the hill to where it fell away and tried to cry. But when I breathed in, I couldn't breathe out again to cry, and I tried to keep from falling off the hill and I fell off the hill into the bright, whirling shapes.

Al ÅŸunu, diyorum, çikolatay? ona vererek. ÖnlüÄŸümü ç?kar?p o yana geçtim. Baya?? güzeldi. Hani ÅŸu kara gözlüler vard?r ya, bir aldatacak olsan b?ça?? saplayacak gibi görünürler, onlardand?.

And so I told myself to take that one. Because Father said clocks slay time. He said time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.

Perhaps he was conscious of somewhere within him the two severed wireends of volition and sentience lying, not touching now, waiting to touch, to knit anew so that he could move.

Because there just aint nothing justifies the deliberate destruction of what a man has built with his own sweat and stored the fruit of his sweat into.

Caddy smelled like trees in the rain.

I've seed de first en de last, Dilsey said. I seed de beginnin, en now I sees de endin.