The Sound And The Fury

by William Faulkner

“Holding onto that ahun gate.”

Iron gate, spelled the way it sounds in the deep south?

“I know.” Mother said. “Nobody knows how I dread Christmas. Nobody knows. I am not one of those women who can stand things.

She seems rather whiny.

“I dont ricklick seeing you around here before.” Luster said.

I love the way he spells words as they sound in a southern accent.

Folks dont have no luck, changing names. My name been Dilsey since fore I could remember and it be Dilsey when they’s long forgot me. How will they know it’s Dilsey, when it’s long forgot, Dilsey, Caddy said. It’ll be in the Book, honey, Dilsey said. Writ out. Can you read it, Caddy said. Wont have to, Dilsey said. They’ll read it for me. All I got to do is say Ise here.

❤️❤️ Dilsey

“Do I have to work all day and then come home to a mad house.”

Story of my life.

Possum hunters found him in the woods, et clean. And you know who et him. Them bluegum chillen did.

?? Not sure who the bluegum chillen are…

Versh said. “Or you know what I’ll do. I’ll skin your rinktum.”

LOL

I got undressed and I looked at myself, and I began to cry. Hush, Luster said. Looking for them aint going to do no good. They’re gone.

What is gone?? Later edit: OHHHHHH. His parts…

I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it’s rather excrutiating-ly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father’s. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it.

I dont suppose anybody ever deliberately listens to a watch or a clock. You dont have to. You can be oblivious to the sound for a long while, then in a second of ticking it can create in the mind unbroken the long diminishing parade of time you didn’t hear.

It’s always the idle habits you acquire which you will regret. Father said that.

Father said clocks slay time. He said time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.

learned that the best way to take all people, black or white, is to take them for what they think they are, then leave them alone.

“Reckin so,” Luster said. “Dese is funny folks. Glad I aint none of em.”

Me too, Luster. Me too.

The clock tick-tocked, solemn and profound. It might have been the dry pulse of the decaying house itself;

Then Ben wailed again, hopeless and prolonged. It was nothing. Just sound. It might have been all time and injustice and sorrow become vocal for an instant by a conjunction of planets.

I sees de doom crack en hears de golden horns shoutin down de glory, en de arisen dead whut got de blood en de ricklickshun of de Lamb!”

Jason told him, his sense of injury and impotence feeding upon its own sound, so that after a time he forgot his haste in the violent cumulation of his self justification and his outrage.

But he bellowed slowly, abjectly, without tears; the grave hopeless sound of all voiceless misery under the sun.