| Quote #7
[…] the labyrinthine mass of oleander and jasmine, lantana and mimosa walling yet again the strip of bare earth combed and curried with powdered shell, raked and immaculate […]. (4.11)
New Orleans is a town of sensory pleasures. The smells in the brothel are part of the seduction for Henry as he encounters these unfamiliar sights. Like we said, the South may be "the South," but each place brings has its own, unique feeling.
| Quote #8
[…] that dead summer twilight – the wisteria, the cigar-smell, the fireflies – attenuated up from Mississippi and into this strange room, across this strange iron New England snow. (6.1)
Even up in his dorm room at Harvard, Quentin can still smell the wisteria and cigar smoke from his front porch in Mississippi. But Faulkner doesn't let us forget that he's in New England now. And boy is New England strange.
| Quote #9
So he didn't even know there was a country all divided and fixed and neat with a people living on it divided and fixed and neat because of what color their skins happened to be and what they happened to own […]. (7.3)
Sutpen encounters a whole new world when he comes out of the hills – a world of haves and have-nots divided according to race and class.