I discovered that my own little postage stamp of native soil was worth writing about and that I would never live long enough to exhaust it. — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
“The river itself is not a hundred yards across, and pa and Vernon and Vardaman and Dewey Dell are the only things in sight… — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
The quality an artist must have is objectivity in judging his work, plus the honesty and courage not to kid himself about it. — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
“Luster returned, wearing a stiff new straw hat with a colored band and carrying a cloth cap. The hat seemed to isolate Luster's skull,… — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
It is easy enough to say that man is immortal simply because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged… — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
“What matters is at the end of life, when you're about to pass into oblivion, that you've at least scratched 'Kilroy was here,' on… — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
I've got to feel the pencil and see the words at the end of the pencil, — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
And sure enough, even waiting will end...if you can just wait long enough. — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
“I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help a man endure by… — William Faulkner Copy Share
Never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and lying and greed. If people all over the… — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
To understand the world, you must first understand a place like Mississippi. — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
“What modren ideas?” pap said. “I didn’t know there was but one idea about work—until it is done, it ain’t done, and when it… — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
“It was only as he put his hand on the door that he became aware of complete silence beyond it, a silence which he… — William Faulkner Copy Share Image
