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If there was anything at all in the Book, anything of hope and peace for His blind and bewildered spawn which He had chosen above all others to offer immortality, THOU SHALT NOT KILL must be it.
William Faulkner
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William Faulkner
Age: 64 †
Born: 1897
Born: September 25
Died: 1962
Died: July 6
Author
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Writer
New Albany
Mississippi
William Cuthbert Faulkner
William Falkner
William Cuthbert Falkner
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Offer
Anything
Chosen
Book
Thou
Must
Blind
Offers
Spawn
Kill
Bewildered
Peace
Shalt
Hope
Immortality
More quotes by William Faulkner
Gough never pretended to perfection or to sainthood - well, hardly ever. Although when he set off the metal detector at airport security, he would blame his aura.
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That's a very good way to learn the craft of writing - from reading.
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What a writer's obituary should read - he wrote the books, then he died.
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Hemingway shot himself. I don't like a man that takes the short way home.
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If you could just ravel out into time. That would be nice. It would be nice if you could just ravel out into time
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ingenuity was apparently given man in order that he may supply himself in crisis with shapes and sounds with which to guard himself from truth.
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True poetry is not of earth, 'T is more of Heaven by its birth.
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The past isn't over. It isn't even past.
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She was bored. She loved, had capacity to love, for love, to give and accept love. Only she tried twice and failed twice to find somebody not just strong enough to deserve it, earn it, match it, but even brave enough to accept it.
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The artist is still a little like the old court jester. He's supposed to speak his vicious paradoxes with some sense in them, but he isn't part of whatever the fabric is that makes a nation.
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Let the writer take up surgery or bricklaying if he is interested in technique.
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The writer's only responsibility is to his art.
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Who gathers the withered rose?
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The whiskey died away in time and was renewed and died again, but the street ran on. From that night the thousand streets ran as one street, with imperceptible corners and changes of scene.
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Caddy smelled like trees.
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I think that no one individual can look at truth. It blinds you. You look at it and you see one phase of it. Someone else looks at it and sees a slightly awry phase of it. But taken all together, the truth is in what they saw though nobody saw the truth intact.
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We have to start teaching ourselves not to be afraid.
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The scattered tea goes with the leaves and every day a sunset dies.
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She loved him not only in spite of but because he himself was incapable of love.
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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.
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