As I Lay Dying

by William Faulkner

She sets the basket into the wagon and climbs in, her leg coming long from beneath her tightening dress: that lever which moves the world; one of that caliper which measures the length and breadth of life.

Bundren says. “I thank you kindly.”

My Dad, born in Arkansas in 1929, around the time this book was written, would often use this expression.

In the tall moonlight his eyes look like spots of white paper pasted on a high small football.

I hardly ever understand these kinds of metaphors for peoples facial features.

Life was created in the valleys. It blew up onto the hills on the old terrors, the old lusts, the old despairs. That’s why you must walk up the hills so you can ride down.

“God knows, it’s a trial on me. Seems like it aint no end to bad luck when once it starts.”

I reckon I wouldn’t never get no work done a-tall for listening to it. I dont know if a little music aint about the nicest thing a fellow can have. Seems like when he comes in tired of a night, it aint nothing could rest him like having a little music played and him resting. I have seen them that shuts up like a hand-grip, with a handle and all, so a fellow can carry it with him wherever he wants.