Great readers (are) those who know early that there is never going to be time to read all there is to read, but do their darnedest anyway.
You know more than you say and I say more than I know. That means we’re a perfect match, as long as we don’t hang around one another more than an hour at a stretch.
What if I hit the man? Newt said. That’s his worry, Call said. Not letting him ride away is your worry. They
They sorry, Deets said. Saying won’t change it. He’s gone, don’t worry about him. He’s gone to the peaceful place. He put his hand
They respected only the strong men who could not be insulted without a price being paid in blood.
There's nothing that sweetens the breath like a cedar toothpick, unless it's mint. And mint don't grow in these parts.
The whole point of loyalty was not to change: stick with those who stuck with you.
The thing that Buffalo Hump was most grateful for, as he rode into the emptiness, was the knowledge that in the years of his youth and manhood he had drawn the lifeblood of so many enemies. He had bee...
Maude Jones, had killed herself with a shotgun one morning, leaving a note which merely said, 'Can't stand listening to this wind no more.
Live through it, Call said. That's all we can do.
Listening to women ain't the fashion in this part of the country.--Augustus McCrae
It’s his dern laziness, Call said. Jake just kind of drifts. Any wind can blow him.
It was as if his whole life had suddenly lodged in his throat, a raw bite he could neither spit out nor swallow.
It didn’t do to ignore men. The majority of them were harmless, with nothing worse than a low capacity to irritate—they were worse than chiggers but not as bad as bedbugs, in her view.
It ain’t dying I’m talking about, it’s living. I doubt it matters where you die, but it matters where you live. ~spoken by Augustus McCrae
In fact, July felt he had reached a point in his life where virtually nothing was known.
If you want one thing too much it’s likely to be a disappointment. The healthy way is to learn to like the everyday things, like soft beds and buttermilk
I hate rude behavior in a man,' he explained in his quiet, unassuming drawl. 'I won't tolerate it.' He politely tipped his hat, and rode away.
I don’t think you ever wanted to be happy anyway. It don’t suit you, so you managed to avoid it.
I don’t sing about myself. I sing about life. I am happy, but life is sad. The songs don’t belong to me . . . They belong to those who hear them.