“Nondum orta luce. Before the light came.”
This Latin phrase — "Nondum orta luce. Before the light came." — appears in the last section of William Faulkner's *The Sound and the Fury* (1929), which is narrated in close third-person from the viewpoint of Dilsey Gibson, the Black matriarch and servant of the Compson family. It is presented on Easter Sunday morning as Dilsey wakes before dawn to start her duties, and the phrase weaves into the novel’s deeper exploration of time, endurance, and spiritual witness. The blend of Latin liturgical language with simple English reflects the novel's complex temporal and linguistic layers. Thematically, the phrase carries significant weight: it conjures images of literal darkness before dawn and the spiritual darkness that has engulfed the Compson family. In contrast to the deteriorating Compsons, Dilsey, who "endured," moves through the pre-dawn darkness with intention and faith. The Easter Sunday backdrop positions her as a symbol of resurrection and hope, while the Compsons remain spiritually stagnant. Thus, the phrase encapsulates one of Faulkner's key themes: that moral and spiritual illumination belongs not to the privileged, but to those who carry on with quiet dignity.
Narrator (third-person, focalized through Dilsey) · Section IV (April 8, 1928 — Easter Sunday) · Easter Sunday morning, before dawn, as Dilsey rises to begin her work
“He was trying to say, and I went on and it was like I was looking at him through a piece of colored glass.”
This line comes from Quentin Compson in the second section of William Faulkner's *The Sound and the Fury* (1929), narrated on the day he takes his own life, June 2, 1910. Quentin reflects on a moment with his brother Benjy, who struggles to express himself verbally because of his intellectual disability — he's always "trying to say" something that never quite comes out. The image of looking "through a piece of colored glass" holds deep significance: it illustrates Quentin's emotional and psychological distance from those around him, including his own family. This distorted, tinted lens implies that Quentin views reality in a fragmented, filtered manner — serving as a formal metaphor for Faulkner's modernist approach of unreliable, stream-of-consciousness narration. Thematically, the quote highlights the novel's key concerns with failed communication, the decline of the Compson family, and the challenge of truly knowing or connecting with others. It also hints at Quentin's struggle to reconcile memory, time, and identity — the very conflicts that lead him to end his life by the section's conclusion.
Quentin Compson · to Benjy Compson · Section 2 – June 2, 1910 (Quentin's section) · Quentin's stream-of-consciousness recollection of a moment with Benjy
“The dungeon was Mother herself...and Father upstairs with his health and his whiskey.”
This haunting line is voiced internally by Quentin Compson in William Faulkner's *The Sound and the Fury* (1929), specifically in the second section of the novel, which unfolds entirely through Quentin's stream-of-consciousness on the day of his suicide, June 2, 1910. Quentin contemplates the stifling psychological prison that his family home has become: his mother Caroline embodies the "dungeon" — a cold, self-pitying woman who is emotionally absent and whose hypochondria and narcissism have distorted the lives of all the Compson family members. His father, Jason Compson III, isolates himself upstairs with his whiskey, a brilliant yet nihilistic man whose fatalistic outlook provides no moral guidance for his children. Together, the parents symbolize a household steeped in spiritual and emotional decay. Thematically, this quote encapsulates one of Faulkner's main concerns: the decline of the Southern aristocratic family as a viable institution. The "dungeon" metaphor emphasizes that the Compson children — Quentin, Caddy, Jason IV, and Benjy — are not just overlooked but are actively trapped by their parents' shortcomings. It also enriches our insight into Quentin's psychological anguish and his struggle to break free from his origins, even in death.
Quentin Compson · June Second, 1910 (Section II) · Quentin's stream-of-consciousness interior monologue on the day of his suicide
“Caddy smelled like trees.”
This line is from the first section of William Faulkner's *The Sound and the Fury* (1929), narrated by Benjy Compson, the youngest brother in the Compson family who has an intellectual disability. His section takes place on April 7, 1928, and features a fluid stream-of-consciousness narration that moves effortlessly through decades of memories. The simple, sensory observation — "Caddy smelled like trees" — is one of Benjy's most frequent associations with his sister Caddy (Candace), who serves as the emotional heart of the novel. Since Benjy struggles with abstract thought and language, he perceives the world solely through his senses, and the smell of trees becomes a powerful symbol of Caddy's natural innocence, freedom, and unconditional love for him. The line is significant thematically for several reasons: it showcases Faulkner's innovative narrative style (portraying reality through a "broken" consciousness), it presents Caddy as a character representing lost purity, and it hints at her eventual loss of innocence — particularly when Caddy starts wearing perfume, prompting Benjy to cry as he senses that something crucial about her has shifted. Thus, this quote captures the novel's central elegiac tone: the pain of lost innocence and the disintegration of the Compson family's world.
Benjy Compson · Section One: April 7, 1928 (Benjy's Section) · Benjy's stream-of-consciousness narration recalling Caddy
“I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire...I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it.”
This haunting passage is spoken by **Mr. Compson** to his son **Quentin** when he gives him his grandfather's watch, a moment that appears in the **Quentin section (June 2, 1910)** — the novel's second chapter. Mr. Compson presents the watch not as a device for keeping time but as a paradoxical symbol: a "mausoleum" that buries hope and desire instead of preserving them. The gift is intended to free Quentin from the oppression of time, yet the irony is heartbreaking — Quentin becomes *obsessed* with time, ultimately removing the watch's hands and smashing it before taking his own life that same day. Thematically, this quote captures Faulkner's deep concern with time, memory, and the decline of the Southern aristocratic ideal. The Compson family is ensnared by its history, unable to progress. Mr. Compson's nihilistic view — that time is a burden to forget rather than a force to overcome — seeps into Quentin's mind, contributing to his paralysis and despair. The "mausoleum" metaphor also hints at the demise of the Compson family name and legacy, making this one of the novel's most thematically powerful lines.
Mr. Compson · to Quentin Compson · June 2, 1910 (Quentin's Section) · Mr. Compson gives Quentin his grandfather's watch
“The last note sounded. At last it stopped vibrating and the darkness was still again.”
This closing line comes at the very end of William Faulkner's *The Sound and the Fury* (1929), specifically in the fourth section titled "April Eighth, 1928." This part is narrated in the third person and focuses on Dilsey Gibson and the Compson family. The "last note" refers to the Easter Sunday church service that Dilsey attends with Benjy, where Reverend Shegog's sermon deeply moves the congregation. As the music fades and silence envelops the darkness, Faulkner presents a quietly heartbreaking conclusion: the moment of shared human connection among the characters dissipates, leaving only stillness behind. This line highlights the novel's core themes— the irreversible flow of time, the decline of the Compson family, and the ultimate silence that engulfs all sound and fury. The musical metaphor also resonates with the novel's Shakespearean epigraph from Macbeth ("full of sound and fury, / Signifying nothing"), implying that even moments of grace and collective transcendence are fleeting, ultimately absorbed back into an indifferent void. It stands as one of Faulkner's most powerful closing images, merging elegy with a stark sense of peace.
Narrator (third-person) · April Eighth, 1928 (Section IV) · Closing lines of the novel, following the Easter Sunday church service
“I don't know too many things I know what I know.”
This line is spoken by Dilsey Gibson, the Compson family's devoted Black cook and housekeeper, in William Faulkner's *The Sound and the Fury* (1929). It appears in the novel's fourth and final section, "April Eighth, 1928," which is narrated from a limited third-person perspective focused on Dilsey. The remark arises during a conversation that highlights Dilsey's strong, unwavering moral clarity — a stark contrast to the turmoil, self-deception, and moral decline that characterize the white Compson family throughout the novel.
Thematically, the quote is significant: it captures Dilsey's humble understanding paired with quiet assurance. She doesn’t claim to know everything, but what she *does* know — love, duty, resilience, and the passage of time — she knows without a doubt. Faulkner employs her voice to ground the novel's fragmented, unreliable narratives (Benjy's stream of consciousness, Quentin's anguished introspection, Jason's bitter rationalization). Dilsey's straightforward wisdom serves as the novel's moral compass. This line also connects with the broader theme of the limits of human knowledge, suggesting that genuine understanding arises not from intellectual arrogance but from lived experience and compassion.
Dilsey Gibson · April Eighth, 1928 (Section IV) · Dilsey's domestic interactions at the Compson household
“Once a bitch always a bitch, what I say.”
This harsh, disdainful remark comes from Jason Compson IV, the third Compson brother and the narrator of the novel's third section (April 6, 1928). He directs it at his niece Quentin — and indirectly at her mother Caddy, whom he holds in contempt — as he lashes out against the women in the Compson family. The term "bitch" merges both generations into one moral condemnation, revealing Jason's deep-seated misogyny, bitterness, and his obsessive need for control. This quote captures Jason's perspective: transactional, vengeful, and rooted in resentment over the Compson family's social and financial decline, which he attributes to Caddy’s sexual "dishonor." William Faulkner employs Jason's section as a sharp satire of a particular strain of Southern white masculinity — small-minded, cruel, and full of self-pity. The line also highlights the novel's broader theme of how the men in the Compson household watch, judge, and scapegoat the women around them, making it one of the most thematically rich opening sentences of any chapter in American modernist fiction.
Jason Compson IV · to Reader / internal monologue (regarding Quentin and Caddy) · Part III – April Sixth, 1928 · Opening line of Jason's narrative section
“They're Compsons. They're not Gibsons.”
This line is delivered by Dilsey Gibson, the loyal Black cook for the Compson family and matriarch of her own family, in the novel's fourth and final section ("April Eighth, 1928" — Easter Sunday), by William Faulkner. When Dilsey's grandson Luster acts rudely or carelessly, she sharply differentiates her family from the crumbling Compson household: "They're Compsons. They're not Gibsons." This remark carries significant thematic weight. Throughout the novel, the Compson family is depicted as morally bankrupt, self-centered, and in irreversible decline—consumed by pride, racism, and dysfunction. In contrast, Dilsey represents endurance, dignity, and genuine love. By establishing this boundary, she asserts that her family will not inherit the Compsons' moral decay. The line embodies one of Faulkner's key contrasts: the empty aristocratic pretension of the white Southern family versus the quiet, grounded humanity of Dilsey and her kin. It also reflects a moment of fierce maternal pride and a subtle critique of the white family she has served her entire life, suggesting that true nobility of character resides not with the Compsons but with the Gibsons.
Dilsey Gibson · April Eighth, 1928 (Section IV) · Dilsey correcting Luster's behavior and distinguishing her family from the Compsons
“I seed de beginnin, en now I sees de endin.”
This line is spoken by Dilsey Gibson, the Black matriarch and cook of the Compson household, near the end of William Faulkner's *The Sound and the Fury* (1929). After attending a deeply moving Easter Sunday church service that brings her to tears, Dilsey says these words to her daughter Frony. Having served the Compson family for decades, Dilsey has seen their rise and fall: their past glory and their complete moral and social decay. The quote carries significant thematic weight on multiple levels. First, it positions Dilsey as the novel's moral center and the only character with genuine historical insight, sharply contrasting with the fragmented, unreliable narrators (Benjy, Quentin, Jason) who come before her section. Second, the Easter setting adds Christian symbolism to her words — she has witnessed both a kind of death and a resurrection, representing both a beginning and an end. Third, Faulkner employs Dilsey's dialect and resilience to critique the self-destruction of the white Southern aristocracy, implying that those who truly "see" are often the ones marginalized by history. This line is celebrated in American modernist literature for its quiet, devastating clarity.
Dilsey Gibson · to Frony · April 8, 1928 (The Dilsey Section, Part IV) · After returning from Easter Sunday church service