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Quote by William Faulkner

“… they are beating their brains out against one of the foundation rocks of our national character itself. Which is the premise that politics and political office are not and never have been the method and means by which we can govern ourselves in peace and dignity and honor and security, but instead are our national refuge for our incompetents who have failed at every other occupation by means of which they might make a living for themselves and their families; and whom as a result we would have to feed and clothe and shelter out of our own private purses and means.”

Quote by William Faulkner

Book:The Mansion
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The Mansion

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William Faulkner
William Faulkner

William Faulkner, an American writer born on September 25, 1897, and died on July 6, 1962. Known for his unique narrative techniques and profound descriptions of Southern society and history, Faulkner is considered one of the great novelists of the 20th century. more

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“I have come for a throne this time." He smiled, and my legs wobbled with relief. "Have you?" he said. "Well, why not? This kingdom has been ruled by halfbloods and housekeepers; a mortal queen is hardly going to lower us further." And just like that, I was on solid ground. Solider, at any rate; whatever else this man was, he was every bit as snobbish as the majority of the courtly fae. "Why not take the throne yourself, if you are so bothered by the pedigree of its previous occupants?" I asked, which was brazen, but then many of the courtly fae are charmed by boldness in mortals, in much the same way that we coo when a kitten bares its teeth. He snorted. "I value my neck, that's why. Which I have managed to keep intact for many centuries--- far longer than those who covet power in this bloody wolf's den of a court." This was so far from what I had expected that I was silent for a moment. "Wise of you," I said. The malicious amusement was back. "Thank you--- I cannot tell you how highly I value the opinions of mortals, particularly young girls who cannot stop themselves from stumbling into violent faerie realms.”

MonarchyFaerieThroneVerbal SaltAccedence
Book:Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales
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“Tater Tot is not a nickname," I snapped. "It's an insult, and you're welcome to have it." "No." She shook her head, sending her straight hair over her shoulders in a glinting wave. "I'd need something else. Something to signify our deep connection." I held in my gag admirably, but I found myself speaking without forethought. "How about 'Mirror'? Since you both love gazing into them." As soon as I said it, I knew it was unkind. Sam's pretty face flushed bright pink, and she launched herself from the foot of my bed. "Sam, I didn't mean---" "No," she cut in sharply. "You said what you said. You know, Saint is right; you can't help but pick people apart." "Excuse me while I choke on the irony," I shot back. "Always with a joke," Sam said, even though I hadn't been joking. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Your problem is that you don't know how to play the game." "The game? Life isn't a game." "Bullshit. It always has been and always will be. Smile whether you want to or not; compliment the people in position to help you or have your back." She counted her points off on her fingers. "When everyone assumes you're the sweetest, most helpful or honest person in their world, they'll let you get away with anything." "This is what you think I should be?" I cut in. "A fake schemer?" Sam shrugged then. "Fake or not, it's how the most successful people get ahead. They plot, forge alliances, and they execute their plans." "If that's success, then I want no part of it. I'd rather fail and have a conscience.”

Verbal SaltMorality And Free Will
Book:Dear Enemy
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“Don't pay any mind to Delilah. Our grandma Belle calls her ornery." Which is why I liked Grandma Maeve better. Sam's cute nose wrinkled then. "I think that just means grumpy." The nasty boy looked at me from under the inky fringe of his bangs when he answered her. "It does." I blew a raspberry. "Stating an opinion contrary to others isn't being ornery; it's called having a working brain. Sorry you two don't know anything about that.”

Verbal SaltStanding Up For YourselfFirst Met
Book:Dear Enemy
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“Killing is why I exist," she said finally. "It is my only love. I used to struggle with my temper, but now I embrace it. You cannot fathom how many I have slain, both mortal and Folk. Why should a little nothing like you be the end of me?" "You know why," I said. "Because it would be a fitting conclusion." She gave me the sort of look that reminded me of Razkarden when he sizes up a potential meal. The shadow in the room seemed to deepen, redden, and grow damp, a slippery damp I felt through my shoes. I only waited. "Well?" I said. She seemed to deflate slightly, and the illusion vanished. "You wish to find the door to Death?" she said, a slyness entering her voice. "Very well. I will tell you how. But I must be allowed to depart this realm unharmed." I could see she expected me to protest or bargain with her. "Done," I said. Her lip curled. "Such a dull little thing," she said. "You have no spirit worth breaking, I see. You are not like your grandfather at all." "And you are not as frightening as you think you are," I said.”

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Book:Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales
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“I'm the one with the magic tongue. The one who's been tasting the Dead for twenty years. And it was me--- not you--- that brought one of them back. What've you ever done, Spiritual Artist? Burned some incense? Shuffled some cards? Made a snap judgment about someone and used it to give them bad advice?" Maura glared at him for a deafening moment, something hot simmering behind her eyes. "You have no idea the things I've done." "Try me." "Hard pass." She gave a small, mean smirk. "Fine. Whatever." He slid his chair back, stood up. "But if it'd been me," she added, "tasting those spirits? I sure as hell wouldn't wait twenty years to do something about it." "That's not fair." "No? You just said you didn't try anything till last week. And the result got you so spooked you're, what, consulting a party psychic? Well. You already got my advice, so here's a snap judgment. You're a coward, Konstantin. Afraid of your own potential. More interested in self-preservation than making any sort of meaningful connection. You're paralyzed by--- oh, I dunno?--- something in your past? Death of a loved one? Am I warm? Yeah. And now you think this ghost thing makes you special. That messing with the Afterlife can somehow undo all those shitty years you've chosen to have instead of just moving on. But it won't. It'll only make it worse. So you need to just stop.”

Verbal SaltEmpathicCalled Out
Book:Aftertaste
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