Listen, here's what I'd like to do: I'd like to live in a trailer and play records all night.
You must pay for everything in this world one way and another. There is nothing free except the Grace of God. You cannot earn that or deserve it.
Time just gets away from us.
I had hated these ponies for the part they played in my father's death but now I realized the notion was fanciful, that it was wrong to charge blame to these pretty beasts who knew neither good nor evil but only innocence. I say that of these ponies. I have known some horses and a good many more pigs who I believe harbored evil intent in their hearts. I will go further and say all cats are wicked, though often useful. Who has not seen Satan in their sly faces? Some preachers will say, well, that is superstitious "claptrap." My answer is this: Preacher, go to your Bible and read Luke 8: 26-33
Lookin' back is a bad habit.
Nothing I like to do pays well.
I would not put a thief in my mouth to steal my brains.
My Master of Arts degree means nothing at all to these monkeys and I have come to share their indifference.
In the Anthropology Club, as I understood it, you were permitted, if not required, to despise only one thing, and that was your own culture, that of the West.
But I had not the strength nor the inclination to bandy words with a drunkard. What have you done when you have bested a fool?
As he drank, little brown drops of coffee clung to his mustache like dew. Men will live like billy goats if they are let alone.
If you want anything done right you will have to see to it yourself every time.
The wicked flee when none pursueth.
On his deathbed he asked for a priest and became a Catholic. That was his wife's religion. It was his own business and none of mine. If you had sentenced one hundred and sixty men to death and seen around eighty of them swing, then maybe at the last minute you would feel the need for some stronger medicine than the Methodists could make.
What have you done when you have bested a fool?
I know what they said even if they would not say it to my face. People love to talk. They love to slander you if you have any substance.
One time you smash a bug with no mercy. Another time you find one helpless on his back with his legs flailing the air, and you flip him over and let him go on his way. The struggle that touches the heart.
She gave me a pledge card, a card promising an annual gift of $5, $10, or $25 toward the support of the Unity mission. I filled it out under the hot light of the projector. The name and address spaces were much too short, unless you wrote a very fine hand or unless your name was Ed Poe and you lived at 1 Elm St.
Nothing is too long or too short either if you have a true and interesting tale and what I call a "graphic" writing style combined with educational aims.
We must each of us bear our own misfortunes.
People do not give it credence that a fourteen-year-old girl could leave home and go off in the wintertime to avenge her father's blood but it did not seem so strange then, although I will say it did not happen every day. I was just fourteen years of age when a coward going by the name Tom Chaney shot my father down in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and robbed him of his life and his horse and $150 in cash money plus two California gold pieces that he carried in his trouser band.
There is no knowing what is in a man's heart.
MR.GOUDY: I believe you testified that you backed away from Aaron Wharton. MR.COGBURN: That is right. MR.GOUDY: You were backing away? MR.COGBURN: Yes sir. He had that ax raised. MR.GOUDY: Which direction were you going? MR.COGBURN: I always go backwards when I am backing up.
You do not think much of me, do you, Cogburn?" "I don't think about you at all when your mouth is closed.
I always go backwards when I am backing up.
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