| Quote #4
[…] a picture, a group the last member of which had been dead twenty-five years and the first, fifty, evoked now the airless gloom of a dead house between an old woman's grim and implacable unforgiving and the passive chafing of a youth of twenty […]. (1.9)
Miss Rosa and Quentin sit in her stuffy small house haunted by ghosts of the past. The history of Sutpen and all the people whose lives he damaged weigh heavily upon those who are still living. Even if they tried to forget, do you think they'd be able to?
| Quote #5
And most of all, I do not plead myself: a young woman emerging from a holocaust which had taken parents security and all from her, who had seen all that living meant to her fall into ruins about the feet of a few figures with shapes of men but with the names and statures of heroes […]. (1.13)
Miss Rosa lost so much as a child. She never knew her mother. Her sister married Sutpen. Her father died in the attic. She was left to survive on her own. In her great naiveté, she sees Sutpen as a strange kind of idol.
| Quote #6
It was a summer of wisteria. The twilight was full of it and of the smell of his father's cigar as they sat on the front gallery after supper until it would be time for Quentin to start […]. (2.1)
You know how a certain scent can bring you right back to a moment from your past? Well, throughout the novel, wisteria is a reminder of the past and of the haunting memories of the South.