Horton Foote (1916–2009)

This might be the best short story I have ever read. Up until now, I would have named [b:A Rose for Emily|2984286|A Rose for Emily|William Faulkner|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348758685l/2984286._SY75_.jpg|62090508] if asked for Faulkner's best short story, henceforth, my answer will be Tomorrow.

I cried at the end of this one. I cried for how cruel life can be and how the best instincts of a man can be used against him. And, I wondered if it was better to have loved and seen what Fentry had seen or never to have known love at all, for any other human being on earth.

Faulkner was in his best descriptive form:

We followed him to the gallery, where a plump, white-haired old lady in a clean gingham sunbonnet and dress and a clean white apron sat in a low rocking chair, shelling field peas into a wooden bowl.

Can you not just see both the woman and the gallery on which she sits?

And, he was at his best philosophically, as well:

But Uncle Gavin says it don’t take many words to tell the sum of any human experience; that somebody has already done it in eight: He was born, he suffered, and he died.

That might make a headstone for any of us.

… (mais)