For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it’s still not yet two o’clock on that July afternoon in 1863…
WILLIAM FAULKNERHistory is not was, it is.
More William Faulkner Quotes
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Nothing can destroy the good writer. The only thing that can alter the good writer is death.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Hollywood is a place where a man can get stabbed in the back while climbing a ladder.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
If there is a God what the hell is He for?
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
It takes two people to make you, and one people to die. That’s how the world is going to end.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
At one time I thought the most important thing was talent.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
The end of wisdom is to dream high enough to lose the dream in the seeking of it.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
The work never matches the dream of perfection the artist has to start with.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Pouring out liquor is like burning books.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Our most treasured family heirloom are our sweet family memories.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Some things you must always be unable to bear. Some things you must never stop refusing to bear. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
The problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Let the writer take up surgery or bricklaying if he is interested in technique. There is no mechanical way to get the writing done, no shortcut.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
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.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
The ideal woman which is in every man’s mind is evoked by a word or phrase or the shape of her wrist, her hand.
WILLIAM FAULKNER