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One day I was talking to Cora. She prayed for me because she believed I was blind to sin, wanting me to kneel and pray too, because people to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too.
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
Praying
Blind
Sin
Kneel
Talking
Prayed
Words
Wanting
Matter
Believed
People
Salvation
Pray
More quotes by William Faulkner
People need trouble - a little frustration to sharpen the spirit on, toughen it.
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You could do so much for me if you just would. If you just knew. I am I and you are you and I know it and you don't know it and you could do so much for me if you just would and if you just would then I could tell you and then nobody would have to know it except you and me.
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...the reason for living was to get ready to stay dead a long time.
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Writing a first draft is like trying to build a house in a strong wind.
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In Europe, being an artist is a form of behavior. In America, it's an excuse for a form of behavior.
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The next time you try to seduce anyone, don't do it with talk, with words. Women know more about words than men ever will. And they know how little they can ever possibly mean.
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Read, read read. Read everything.
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Curiosity is a mistress whose slaves decline no sacrifice.
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I had learned a little about writing from Soldier's Pay - how to approach language, words: not with seriousness so much as an essayist does, but with a kind of alert respect, as you approach dynamite even with joy, as you approach women: perhaps with the same secretly unscrupulous intentions.
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The past isn't over. It isn't even past.
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To the man grown the long crowded mile of his boyhood becomes less than the throw of a stone.
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Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words.
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People ... have tried to evoke God or devil to justify them in what their glands insisted upon.
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Between grief and nothing, I will take grief.
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A man or a race either if he's any good can survive his past without even needing to escape from it and not because of the high quite often only too rhetorical rhetoric of humanity but for the simple indubitable practical reason of his future: that capacity to survive and absorb and endure and still be steadfast.
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The writer's only responsibility is to his art.
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People everywhere are about the same, but ... it did seem that in a small town, where evil is harder to accomplish, where opportunities for privacy are scarcer, that people can invent more of it in other people's names. Because that was all it required: that idea, that single idle word blown from mind to mind.
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Even sound seemed to fail in this air, like the air was worn out with carrying sounds so long.
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The writer has three sources: imagination, observation, and experience
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A hack writer who would have been considered fourth rate in Europe, who tried out a few of the old proven 'sure-fire' literary skeletons with sufficient local color to intrigue the superficial and the lazy.
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