All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection. So I rate us on the base of our splendid failure to do the impossible.
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 y...
Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words.
now i can get them teeth
It was too late. Maybe yesterday, while I was still a child, but not now. I knew too much, had seen too much, I was a child no longer now; innocence and childhood were forever lost, forever gone from...
Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.
Who gathers the withered rose?
I lied, I said. ...I know it, he said.Then do something about it. Do anything, just so it's something.I cant, he said.There aint anything to do? Not anything?I didn't say that, Grandfather said. I sai...
Women know more about words than men ever will. And they know how little they can ever possibly mean.
You don't dare think whole even to yourself the entirety of a dear hope or wish let alone a desperate one else you yourself have doomed it.
It's like there was a fellow in every man that's done a-past the sanity or the insanity, that watches the sane and the insane doings of that man with the same horror and the same astonishment.
We have to start teaching ourselves not to be afraid.
She carried her head high enough - even when we believed that she was fallen. It was as if she demanded more than ever the recognition of her dignity as the last Grierson; as if it had wanted that tou...
In the South you are ashamed of being a virgin. Boys. Men. They lie about it. Because it means less to women, Father said. He said it was men invented virginity not women. Father said it's like death:...
All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection.
Stars were golden unicorns neighing unheard through blue meadows.
In writing, you must kill all your darlings.
No man can cause more grief than the one clinging blindly to the vices of his ancesters.
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.
I only write when the spirit moves me ... and the spirit moves me every day. William Faulkner, Oxford, Mississippi
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