It takes a year, nephew... a full turn of the calendar, to get over losing someone.
They say that doing ten sums a day prevents you from becoming senile. But by that argument bankers should be geniuses. That's not right. Thickest heads in the world.
He pressed his face into the fabric and breathed in slowly through his mouth and nose, hoping for the faintest smoke and mountain sage and salty sweet stink of Jack but there was no real scent, only t...
Again the ranch is on the market and they’ve shipped out the last of the horses, paid everybody off the day before, the owner saying, ‘Give them to the real estate shark, I’m out a here, dropping the...
We're all strange inside. We learn how to disguise our differences as we grow up.
One of the tragedies of real life is that there is no background music.
Jack, in his dark camp, saw Ennis as night fire, a red spark on the huge black mass of mountain.
The only cities were of ice, bergs with cores of beryl, blue gems within white gems, that some said gave off an odor of almonds.
And he would wake sometimes in grief, sometimes with the old sense of joy and release; the pillow sometimes wet, sometimes the sheets.
All them things I don't know could get you killed if I come to know them
I wish I knew how to quit you.
And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery.
By January it had always been winter.
A spinning coin, still balanced on its rim, may fall in either direction.
Without getting up he threw deadwood on the fire, the sparks flying up with their truths and lies, a few hot points of fire landing on their hands and faces, not for the first time, and they rolled do...
The old forests are going and once they are gone we will have to wait a thousand years or more to see their like. Though nothing will be allowed such a generous measure of time to grow.
The forest had many edges, like a lace altarpiece.
It's easier to die if others around you are dying.
You got no fuckin idea how bad it gets. I'm not you. I can't make it on a couple a high-altitude fucks once or twice a year. You're too much for me, Ennis, you son of a whoreson bitch. I wish I knew h...
Their silence comfortable. Something unfolding. But what? Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.