Then the town was sorry with being glad, as people sometimes are sorry for those whom they have at last forced to do as they wanted them to.
William FaulknerIn the notseeing and the hardknowing as though in a cave he seemed to see a diminishing row of suavely shaped urns in moonlight, blanched.
William FaulknerFrom that night the thousand streets ran as one street, with imperceptible corners and changes of scene, broken by intervals of begged and stolen rides, on trains and trucks, and on country wagons with he at twenty and twentyfive and thirty sitting on the seat with his still, hard face and the clothes (even when soiled and worn) of a city man and the driver of the wagon not knowing who or what the passenger was and not daring to ask. The street ran into Oklahoma and Missouri and as far south again as Mexico and then back north to Chicago and Detroit and then back south again and at last to Mississippi. It was fifteen years long.
William FaulknerTag: fugitive
when she spoke even now, after forty years, among the slurred consonants and the flat vowels of the land where her life had been cast, New England talked as plainly as it did in the speech of her kin who had never left New Hampshire
William FaulknerTag: metonymy north-and-south
And when Hightower approaches, the smell of plump unwashed flesh and unfresh clothing--that odor of unfastidious sedentation, of static overflesh not often enough bathed--is well nigh overpowering. [...] It is the odor of goodness. Of course it would smell bad to us that are bad and sinful.
William FaulknerTag: hygiene
The woman went on. She had not looked back. She went out of sight up the road: swollen, slow, deliberate, unhurried, and tireless as augmenting afternoon itself. She walked out of their talking too; perhaps out of their minds too.
William FaulknerTag: pregnant-woman
I reckon that being good is about the easiest thing in the world for a lazy man.
William FaulknerFolks are funny. They can't stick to one way of thinking or doing anything unless they get a new reason for doing it ever so often.
William FaulknerTime, the spaces of light and dark, had long since lost orderliness.
William FaulknerTag: time
It was hot; heat quivered up from the asphalt, giving to the familiar buildings about the square a nimbus quality, a quality of living and palpitant chiaroscuro.
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