For once, she expected some emotion from him; and an emotion would be the equivalent of seeing him broken. She did not know what it was about him that had always made her want to see him broken.

Her shrewdness had a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried utterly out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be contented, did something to make her so.

I got into a fight with Walt Disney: I always pick the wrong people to fight with.

Who owned no property and never desired to since the earth was no man's but all men's, as light and air and weather were.

Written By William Faulkner

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