Quotes from William Faulkner

be.—Yes he thought Between grief and nothing I will take grief.

People will pay any price for motion. They will even work for it. Look at bicycles.

An old man is never at home save in his own garments: his own old thinking and beliefs; old hands and feet, elbow, knee, shoulder which he knows will fit.

you wanted to sublimate a piece of natural human folly into a horror and then exorcise it with truth and i it was to isolate her out of the loud world so that it would have to flee us of necessity and then the sound of it would be as though it had never been

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind—and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement.

Making or getting money is a kind of game where there are not any rules at all.

So never be afraid, never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion; against injustice, lying and greed. If you, not just you in this room tonight, but in all the other thousands of rooms like this one today and tomorrow and next week will do this, not as a class or classes, but as individuals, men and women, you will change the earth.

B]ecause the second time I ever saw you I learned what I had read in books but I never had actually believed: that love and suffering are the same thing and that the value of love is the sum of what you have to pay for it and anytime you get it cheap you have cheated yourself.

I said I have committed incest father I said

Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency . . . to get the book written. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the "Ode on a Grecian Urn" is worth any number of old ladies.

It does last, Horace said. Spring does. You'd almost think there was some purpose to it.

It was that his words, his telling, just did not synchronize with what his hearers believed would (and must) be the scope of a single individual.

No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.

Oíamos la oscuridad.

The last sound on the worthless earth will be two human beings trying to launch a homemade spaceship and already quarreling about where they are going next.

All the past is not a diminishing road but, instead, a huge meadow which no winter ever quite touches, divided from them now by the narrow bottle-neck of the most recent decade of years.

Folks are funny. They can't stick to one way of thinking or doing anything unless they get a new reason for doing it ever so often.

Perhaps love cannot live anywhere but books.

Caddy olía como los árboles cuando llueve y como cuando ella dice que estamos dormidos.

Beautiful lives women live—women do. In very breathing they draw meat and drink from some beautiful attenuation of unreality in which the shades and shapes of facts—of birth and bereavement, of suffering and bewilderment and despair—move with the substanceless decorum of lawn party charades, perfect in gesture and without significance or any ability to hurt.

It surged up out of the water and stood for an instant upright upon that surging and heaving desolation like Christ.

Tomorrow night is nothing but one long sleepless wrestle with yesterday's omissions and regrets.

I realised that a nigger is not a person so much as a form of behavior.

Writing is one-third imagination, one-third experience, and one third observation.