It surged up out of the water and stood for an instant upright upon that surging and heaving desolation like Christ.
It is the man who all his life has been self-convicted of veracity whose lies find quickest credence.
A pair of jaybirds came up from nowhere, whirled up on the blast like gaudy scraps of cloth or paper and lodged in the mulberries, where they swung in raucous tilt and recover, screaming into the wind that ripped their harsh cries onward and away like scraps of paper or of cloth in turn.
It's always the idle habits you acquire which you will regret. Father said that. That Christ was not crucified: he was worn away by a minute clicking of little wheels. That had no sister.
It takes two people to make you, and one people to die. That's how the world is going to end.
It was only as he put his hand on the door that he became aware of complete silence beyond it, a silence which he at eighteen knew that it would take more than one person to make.
And I will look down and see my murmuring bones and the deep water like wind, like a roof of wind, and after a long time they cannot distinguish even bones upon the lonely and inviolate sand.
It's not when you realise that nothing can help you - religion, pride, anything - it's when you realise that you don't need any aid.
It's because I'm alone.. If I could just feel it, it would be different, because I would not be alone. But if I were not alone, everybody would know it. And he could do so much for me, and then I would not be alone. Then I could be all right alone.
Just when do men that have different blood in them stop hating one another?
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. The hands were extended, slightly off the horizontal at a faint angle, like a gull tilting into the wind.
Luster returned, wearing a stiff new straw hat with a colored band and carrying a cloth cap. The hat seemed to isolate Luster's skull, in the beholder's eye as a spotlight would, in all its individual planes and angles. So peculiarly individual was its shape that at first glance the hat appeared to be on the head of someone standing immediately behind Luster.
Sometimes I aint so sho who's got ere a right to say when a man is crazy and when he aint. Sometimes I think it aint none of us pure crazy and aint none of us pure sane until the balance of us talks him that-a-way. It's like it aint so much what a fellow does, but it's the way the majority of folks is looking at him when he does it.
Knowing not grieving remembers a thousand savage and lonely streets.
Bad health is the primary reason for all life. Created by disease, within putrefaction, into decay
Once a bitch always a bitch, what I say.
That was when I learned that words are no good; that words dont ever fit even what they are trying to say at. When he was born I knew that motherhood was invented by someone who had to have a word for it because the ones that had the children didn't care whether there was a word for it or not. I knew that fear was invented by someone that had never had the fear; pride, who never had the pride.
Like a fellow running from or toward a gun ain't got time to worry whether the word for what he is doing is courage or cowardice.
Caddy got the box and set it on the floor and opened it. It was full of stars. When I was still, they were still. When I moved, they glinted and sparkled. I hushed.
Only Southerners have taken horsewhips and pistols to editors about the treatment or maltreatment of their manuscript. This--the actual pistols--was in the old days, of course, we no longer succumb to the impulse. But it is still there, within us.
That's the one trouble with this country: everything, weather, all, hangs on too long. Like our rivers, our land: opaque, slow, violent; shaping and creating the life of man in its implacable and brooding image.
Making or getting money is a kind of game where there are not any rules at all.
She loved him not only in spite of but because he himself was incapable of love.
The reason you will not say it is, when you say it, even to yourself, you will know it is true.
My, my. A body does get around.
Even sound seemed to fail in this air, like the air was worn out with carrying sounds so long.
Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar...
The sun, an hour above the horizon, is poised like a bloody egg upon a crest of thunderheads; the light has turned copper: in the eye portentous, in the nose sulphurous, smelling of lightning.
Now she hates me. I have taught her that, at least.
Father was teaching us that all men are just accumulations dolls stuffed with sawdust swept up from the trash heaps where all previous dolls had been thrown away the sawdust flowing from what wound in what side that not for me died not
That's sad too, people cannot do anything that dreadful they cannot do anything very dreadful at all they cannot even remember tomorrow what seemed dreadful today
When the switch fell I could feel it upon my flesh; when it welted and ridged it was my blood that ran, and I would think with each blow of the switch: Now you are aware of me! Now I am something in your secret and selfish life, who have marked your blood with my own for ever and ever.
She has no mother because fatherblood hates with love and pride, but motherblood with hate loves and cohabits.
I am not one of those women who can stand things.
The arrow increased without motion, then in a quick swirl the trout lipped a fly beneath the surface with that sort of gigantic delicacy of an elephant picking up a peanut.
I, the dreamer clinging yet to the dream as the patient clings to the last thin unbearable ecstatic instant of agony in order to sharpen the savor of the pain's surcease, waking into the reality, the more than reality, not to the unchanged and unaltered old time but into a time altered to fit the dream which, conjunctive with the dreamer, becomes immolated and apotheosized
And even a liar can be scared into telling the truth, same as honest man can be tortured into telling a lie.
She is like all the rest of them. Whether they are seventeen or fortyseven, when they finally come to surrender completely, it's going to be in words.
I could smell the curves of the river beyond the dusk and I saw the last light supine and tranquil upon tideflats like pieces of broken mirror, then beyond them lights began in the pale clear air, trembling a little like butterflies hovering a long way off.
The clock tick-tocked, solemn and profound. It might have been the dry pulse of the decaying house itself, after a while it whirred and cleared its throat and struck six times.
If happy I can be I will, if suffer I must I can.
And I reckon them that are good must suffer for it the same as them that are bad.
She was the captain of her soul
I said I have committed incest father I said
Then Ben wailed again, hopeless and prolonged. It was nothing. Just sound. It might have been all time and injustice and sorrow become vocal for an instant by a conjunction of planets.
And when I think about that, I think that if nothing but being married will help a man, he's durn nigh hopeless.
Dear God, let me be damned a little longer, a little while.
Surely heaven must have something of the color and shape of whatever village or hill or cottage of which the believer says, This is my own.
I say money has no value; it's just the way you spend it.
More William Faulkner Quotations (Based on Topics)
Man - Time - Life - People - Art - World - Books - Children - Pride - Sadness - Mothers - Facts - Danger & Risk - Work & Career - Will & Determination - God - Reasoning - Place - Countries - View All William Faulkner Quotations
More William Faulkner Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Absalom, Absalom!
- As I Lay Dying
- Light in August
- The Sound and the Fury
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