Black Spring by Henry Miller
I am a patriot-of the Fourteenth Ward, Brooklyn, where I was raised. The rest of the United States doesn't exist for me, except as idea, or history, or literature. At ten years of age I was uprooted from my native soil and removed to a cemetery, a Lutheran cemetery, where the tombstones were always in order and the wreaths never faded.
The Sound and The Fury by William Faulkner
Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting. They were coming toward where the flag was and I went along the fence.