She has no mother because fatherblood hates with love and pride$$$ but motherblood with hate loves and cohabits.

I believe in God$$$ God. God$$$ I believe in God.

Life is not interested in good and evil. Don Quixote was constantly choosing between good and evil$$$ but then he was choosing in his dream state. He was mad. He entered reality only when he was so busy trying to cope with people that he had no time to distinguish between good and evil. Since people exist only in life$$$ they must devote their time simply to being alive. Life is motion$$$ and motion is concerned with what makes man move which is ambition$$$ power$$$ pleasure. What time a man can devote to morality$$$ he must take by force from the motion of which he is a part.

For the Lord aimed for him to do and not to spend too much time thinking$$$ because his brain it's like a piece of machinery: it won't stand a whole lot of racking. It's best when it all runs along the same$$$ doing the day's work and not no one part used no more than needful.

They held the funeral on the second day$$$ with the town coming to look at Miss Emily beneath a mass of bought flowers with the crayon face of her father musing profoundly above the bier and the ladies sibilant and macabre; and the very old men - some in their brushed Confederate uniforms - on the porch and the lawn$$$ talking of Miss Emily as if she had been a contemporary of theirs$$$ believing that they had danced with her and courted her perhaps$$$ confusing time with its mathematical progression$$$ as the old do$$$ to whom all the past is not a diminishing road but$$$ instead$$$ a huge

With the gun which was too big for him$$$ the breech-loader which did not even belong to him but to Major de Spain and which he had fired only once$$$ at a stump on the first day to learn the recoil and how to reload it with the paper shells$$$ he stood against a big gum tree beside a little bayou whose black still water crept without motion out of a cane-brake$$$ across a small clearing and into the cane again$$$ where$$$ invisible$$$ a bird$$$ the big woodpecker called Lord-to-God by negroes$$$ clattered at a dead trunk.

If it could just be a hell beyond that: the clean flame the two of us more than dead. Then you will have only me then only me then the two of us amid the pointing and the horror beyond the clean flame. Only you and me amid the pointing and the horror walled by the clean flame.

So long as the deceit ran along quiet and monotonous$$$ all of us let ourselves be deceived$$$ abetting it unawares or maybe through cowardice...

I lied$$$" I said. ... "I know it$$$" he said. "Then do something about it. Do anything$$$ just so it's something." "I cant$$$" he said. "There aint anything to do? Not anything?" "I didn't say that$$$" Grandfather said. "I said I couldn't. You can." "What?" I said. "How can I forget it? Tell me how to." "You can't$$$" he said. "Nothing is ever forgotten. Nothing is ever lost.

You men$$$' she says. 'You durn men.'