It's hard to pick just one (passage, that is).
her face looked at the sky it was low so low that all smells and sounds of night seemed to have been crowded down like under a slack tent especially the honeysuckle it had got into my breathing it was on her face and throat like paint her blood pounded against my hand I was leaning on my other arm it began to jerk and jump and I had to pant to get any air at all out of that thick gray honeysuckle
yes I hate him I would die for him Ive already died for him I die for him over and over again every time this goes
when I lifted my hand I could still feel crisscrossed twigs and grass burning into the palm
--William Faulkner,
The Sound and the Fury
I read most of this novel while in Mississippi and I tell you there are no adequate words for how fucking awesomely kickass it was.
yes I hate him I would die for him Ive already died for him I die for him over and over again every time this goes
when I lifted my hand I could still feel crisscrossed twigs and grass burning into the palm
--William Faulkner,
The Sound and the Fury
I read most of this novel while in Mississippi and I tell you there are no adequate words for how fucking awesomely kickass it was.