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We shall not kill and maybe next time we even won't.

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
Kill
Shall
Maybe
Next
Even
Time

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To me, all human behavior is unpredictable and, considering man's frailty... and... the ramshackle universe he functions in, it's... all irrational.
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A gentleman accepts the responsibility of his actions and bears the burden of their consequences.
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If happy I can be I will, if suffer I must I can.
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A fellow gets to thinking. About all the sorrow and afflictions in this world how it's liable to strike anywhere, like lightning.
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It used to be I thought of death as a man something like Grandfather a friend of his a kind of private and particular friend like we used to think of Grandfather's desk not to touch it not even to talk loud in the room where it was.
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It is not proof that I sought. I, of all men, know that proof is but a fallacy invented by man to justify to himself and his fellows his own crass lust and folly.
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True poetry is not of earth, 'T is more of Heaven by its birth.
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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.
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I knew that nobody but a luckless man could ever need a doctor in the face of a cyclone.
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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
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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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You like orchids?... Nasty things. Their flesh is too much like the flesh of men, their perfume has the rotten sweetness of corruption.
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Your illusions are a part of you like your bones and flesh and memory.
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Everyone in the South has no time for reading because they are all too busy writing.
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You should approach Joyce's Ulysses as the illiterate Baptist preacher approaches the Old Testament: with faith.
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When I was little there was a picture in one of our books, a dark place into which a single weak ray of light came slanting upon two faces lifted out of the shadow.
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