Though the mules plod in a steady and unflagging hypnosis, the vehicle does not seem to progress. It seems to hang suspended in the middle distance forever and forever, so infinitesimal is its progress, like a shabby bead upon the mild red string of road. So much so is this that in the watching of it the eye loses it as sight and sense drowsily merge and blend, like the road itself, with all the peaceful and monotonous changes between darkness and day, like already measured thread being rewound onto a spool. So that at last, as though out of some trivial and unimportant region beyond even distance, the sound of it seems to come slow and terrific and without meaning, as though it were a ghost traveling a half mile ahead of its own shape.
William FaulknerAnd no one could have known if he had ever looked at her either as, without any semblance of progress in either of them, they draw slowly together as the wagon crawls terrifically toward her in its slow palpable aura of somnolence and red dust in which the steady feet of the mules move dreamlike and punctuate by the sparse jingle of harness and the limber bobbing of jackrabbit ears, the mules still neither asleep nor awake as he halts them.
William FaulknerCum am dat ochii de fetița asta n-am de ce să ți-o ascund nici nu-mi trecea prin cap că vorbea despre frate-său n-ar fi vorbit mai multe de dumneata dacă ai fi fost singurul bărbat lume sau soț nici de departe nu te-ai răzgândit să iei o țigară
Nu fumez
Atunci nu mai insist cu toate că e o buruiană de soi mă costă 25 de dolari suta de bucăți preț angro un prieten de-al meu din Havana mda îmi închipui că s-au schimbat bine de tot lucrurile pe-acolo tot îmi spuneam trebuie să fac o vizită dar n-am mai ajuns am intrat în horă de mai bine de 10 ani nu pot să-mi permit să lipsesc de la bancă în timpul studenției omu-și mai schimbă obișnuințele multe din chestiile care ți se păreau așa de importante când erai boboc înțelegi povestește-mi și mie cum mai stau lucrurile pe-acolo
n-am să le spun tatii și mamei dacă la asta te referi
n-ai să le spui n-ai să oh vasăzică la asta te gândești dar crede-mă că puțin îmi pasă dacă le spui sau nu înțelegi că un lucru ca ăsta un ghinion dar nu-i o crimă n-am fost nici primul nici ultimul am avut ghinion pur și simplu dumneata ai fi putut fi mai norocos
Sometimes I ain’t sho who’s got ere a right to say when a man is crazy and when he ain't. Sometimes I think it ain't none of us pure crazy and ain't none of us pure sane until the balance of us talks him that-a-way. It’s like it ain't so much what a fellow does, but it’s the way the majority of folks is looking at him when he does it. […] That’s how I reckon a man is crazy. That’s how he can’t see eye to eye with other folks. And I reckon they ain't nothing else to do with him but what the most folks says is right.
William FaulknerAnd he was not old enough to talk and say nothing at the same time.
William FaulknerI am older at twenty than a lot of people who have died.
William Faulkner…and the mousesized mousecolored spinster trembling and aghast at her own temerity, staring across it at the childless bachelor in whom ended that long line of men who had had something in them of decency and pride even after they had begun to fail at the integrity and the pride had become mostly vanity and selfpity: from the expatriate who had to flee his native land with little else except his life yet who still refused to accept defeat, through the man who gambled his life and his good name twice and lost twice and declined to accept that either, and the one who with only a clever small quarterhorse for tool avenged his dispossessed father and grandfather and gained a principality, and the brilliant and gallant governor and the general who though he failed at leading in battle brave and gallant men at least risked his own life too in the failing, to the cultured dipsomaniac who sold the last of his patrimony not to buy drink but to give one of his descendants at least the best chance in life he could think of.
William FaulknerThe train swung around the curve, the engine puffing with short, heavy blasts, and they passed smoothly from sight that way, with that quality about them of shabby and timeless patience, of static serenity: that blending of childlike and ready incompetence and paradoxical reliability that tends and protects them it loves out of all reason and robs them steadily and evades responsibility and obligations by means too barefaced to be called subterfuge even and is taken in theft or evasion with only that frank and spontaneous admiration for the victor which a gentleman feels for anyone who beats him in a fair contest, and withal a fond and unflagging tolerance for whitefolk's vagaries like that of a grandparent for unpredictable and troublesome children, which I had forgotten.
William FaulknerThey continued to jeer at him, but he said nothing more. He leaned on the rail, looking down at the trout which he had already spent, and suddenly the acrimony, the conflict, was gone from their voices…they too partaking of that adult trait of being convinced of anything by an assumption of silent superiority. I suppose that people, using themselves and each other so much by words, are at least consistent in attributing wisdom to a still tongue…
William FaulknerSometimes I could put myself to sleep saying that over and over until after the honeysuckle got all mixed up in it the whole thing came to symbolize night and unrest I seemed to be lying neither asleep nor awake looking down a long corridor of grey halflight where all stable things had become shadowy paradoxical all I had done shadows all I had felt suffered taking visible form antic and perverse mocking without relevance inherent themselves with the denial of the significance they should have affirmed thinking I was I was not who was not was not who.
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