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
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
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
[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)
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
…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
I have but one rift in the darkness, that is that I have injured no one save myself by my folly, and that the extent of that folly you will never learn. — William Faulkner, Sanctuary (Vintage, 1931)
Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words. ― William Faulkner, Mosquitoes. (Liveright; Reprint edition, December 17, 1996) Originally published 1927.
… 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.
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