… 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.
You see, I was that sun, or thought I was who did believe there was that spark, that crumb in madness which is divine, though madness know no word itself for terror or for pity. — William Faulkner, Absalom, Absalom! (Vintage; Reissue edition November 1990) Originally published 1936.
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
She was bored. She loved, had capacity to love, for love, to give and accept love. Only she tried twice and failed twice to find somebody not just strong enough to deserve it, earn it, match it, but even brave enough to accept it. — William Faulkner, The Town: A Novel of the Snopes Family.… Continue reading William Faulkner
[…] and your illusions are a part of you like your bones and flesh and memory. — William Faulkner, Absalom, Absalom! (Vintage, 1936)
Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders. Knows remembers believes a corridor in a big long garbled cold echoing building of dark red brick sootbleakened by more chimneys than its own, set in a grassless cinderstrewnpacked compound surrounded by smoking factory purlieus and enclosed by ten food steel-and-wire… Continue reading William Faulkner
All of a sudden he discovered, not what he wanted to do but what he just had to do, had to do it whether he wanted to or not, because if he did not do it he knew that he could not live with himself for the rest of his life, never live with what… Continue reading William Faulkner