Is this the longest sentence ever?

Answer 1

No

But this is one of the smaller ones! There are several lengthy sentences including some with thousands of words including one in James Joyce's Ulysses.

Although it was a momentary experience, I had begun to stare for what seemed like a whole hour; no sound or jostling touched or even penetrated my anatomy; this black and white image was not just interesting journalism; it could never be; it was overwhelming, it captured the very essence of the conflict which now abounded, in this so called upper class neighborhood; our neighborhood; a conflict, supposedly long suppressed, but perhaps sounding a trembling bell; a shuddering tremor in our modern society; this conflict; even a national conflict - in reflexive mode was the big R!; Oh God, yes, here it was, raising its ugly head again just like it did in the fifties, sixties and seventies - in our own generation; this spitting of blood like a poor cancerous lung patient agonizing over his spent life, and pulling his prayerful mantel from him like a rejected prophet; offering an unworthy sacrifice to an offended God; yes; now, right now, on our doorsteps this was happening all over, and saying that this photograph, or this image, was somehow attractive; a photographic gem - somebody said, and a handsome tale too for a Headliner, turned my stomach; I was arrested, not for a misdemeanor, not for a protest, not even for altruism; I was arrested in my own heart; this imagery disturbed me, it angered me and distorted my usual steady thoughts; it hurt me; yes, I felt a painful disgust; this invasive and choreographed imagery, in all its ugliness, touched my soul, and the soul of my mother too, who upon hearing my sighs and seeing the picture, deeply felt for me as well; the blood pumping pulse sounded aloud in my incoherent and trembling voice; she felt it; it's not exactly an image a young and inexperienced journalist wants to land on the desk of his editor for discussion; how could I justify myself as an objective graduate from the faculty; I was on probation; I was not allowed to feel, I was about to either save or ruin my career over a photograph; a simple photograph; it was about to become an invitation to 'all right thinking journalists' to portray me as a head banger; but for me, its representation was a pitiful indictment on all of our society, on all of us together; it was a photographic disaster, which for my part, and with no reluctance whatsoever, had to be published; it had to be published correctly, along with the meretriciously smiling benefactor who had the questionable means to do so but the bucks to arrange the scam and pay for it all; yes, there she was, captured as as an 'All American Alien'; imagine her thoughts; this beautiful little girl, maybe 10 or 12 years old, with a smile to die for, not shaken, not terrified not confused, just upheld gently in the altruistic arms of a locally respected, and family loving man, a Bible preacher by trade, but a marksman by profession and an assassin of the pulpit; whose words, not bullets were the cause of this conflict and war; whose words were more injurious than bullets, because he, as a projected beacon of hope, and having God on his side to prove it, dazzled his hearers with his righteous protestations of the classes and he was believed; yes; he himself, left such an impression upon me that I too began to question my place; it drew me to my knees; how is it that words - just words affect a man's soul? ; in an odd sort of way I repented for my cowardliness; in this repentance I gave an inexpressible groan from the depths of my being; oh that I should have ever believed the lie; the little girl's quintessential ribbons; her crafted little stars and stripes, her little braided knots, gently weaved and proudly portrayed upon her cheeks; it left me crouching just like her in that photo; she had crouched, among more than 250 white well dressed men and women invited to the opening of 'The American Artist'; it was America - 2012.