American Civil War · American Culture · American History · American Literature · Classic · Excerpt · Fiction · Historical · Historical Fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won. They are not even fought. The… Continue reading William Faulkner

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Excerpt · Fiction · Novel · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

She smelled like trees. In the corner it was dark, but I could see the window. I squatted there, holding the slipper. I couldn’t see it but my hands saw it, and I could hear it getting night, and my hands saw the slipper but I couldn’t see myself, but my hands could see the… Continue reading William Faulkner

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Excerpt · Fiction · Novel · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

I said You don’t know what worry is. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know whether I am worrying or not. Whether I can or not. I don’t know whether I can cry or not. I don’t know whether I have tried to or not. I feel like a wet seed wild in… Continue reading William Faulkner

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Civil War · Classic · Excerpt · Fiction · Historical Fiction · Novel · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

[A]nd I realized then the unmitigable chasm between all life and all print–that those who can, do, those who cannot and suffer enough because they can’t, write about it. — William Faulkner, The Unvanquished (Random House, 1938)

Rate this:

American Culture · Classic · Excerpt · Fiction · Novel · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn’t need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear.… Continue reading William Faulkner

Rate this:

American Civil War · American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Excerpt · Historical Fiction · Modernism · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

…I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even… Continue reading William Faulkner

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fiction · Modernism · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Short Stories · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

… when she became not then half of memory became not and if I become not then all of remembering will cease to be.—Yes, he thought, between grief and nothing I will take grief. — William Faulkner, from “Wild Plains,” If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem. (HarperPerennial Classics June 4, 2013) Originally published 1939.

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Civil War · Classic · Excerpt · Historical Fiction · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Southern Gothic · Southern Literature · Southern Renaissance · Stream of Consciousness

William Faulkner

In the orchard the bees sounded like a wind getting up, a sound caught by a spell just under crescendo and sustained. The lane went along the wall, arched over, shattered with bloom, dissolving into trees. Sunlight slanted into it, sparse and eager. Yellow butterflies flickered along the shade like flecks of sun. — William… Continue reading William Faulkner

Rate this: