And sure enough, even waiting will end…if you can just wait long enough.
WILLIAM FAULKNERAn artist is a creature driven by demons. He don’t know why they choose him and he’s usually too busy to wonder why.
More William Faulkner Quotes
-
-
An artist is a creature driven by demons. He don’t know why they choose him and he’s usually too busy to wonder why. He is completely amoral in that he will rob, borrow, beg, or steal from anybody and everybody to get the work done.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
And even a liar can be scared into telling the truth, same as honest man can be tortured into telling a lie.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice. He has supreme vanity. No matter how much he admires the old writer, he wants to beat him.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
It seems hard that a man in his need could be so flouted by a road.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
She was bored. She loved, had capacity to love, for love, to give and accept love.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
History is not was, it is.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
If a story is in you, it has to come out.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
You don’t love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
No battle is ever won … victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and lying and greed.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
Now she hates me. I have taught her that, at least.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
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 fought.
WILLIAM FAULKNER -
You can’t beat women anyhow and that if you are wise or dislike trouble and uproar you don’t even try to.
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