Ever dumb thing I ever done in my life there was a decision I made before that got me into it. It was never the dumb thing. It was always some choice I'd made before it.
There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto.
My daddy always told me to just do the best you knew how and tell the truth. He said there was nothin to set a man’s mind at ease like wakin up in the morning and not havin to decide who you were. And if you done somethin wrong just stand up and say you done it and say you’re sorry and get on with it. Don’t haul stuff around with you.
What would you do if I died? If you died I would want to die too. So you could be with me? Yes. So I could be with you. Okay.
He said that those who have endured some misfortune will always be set apart but that it is just that misfortune which is their gift and which is their strength.
They spoke less and less between them until at last they were silent altogether as is often the way with travelers approaching the end of a journey.
By day the banished sun circles the earth like a grieving mother with a lamp.
You are either born a writer or you are not.
Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that. You forget some things, dont you? Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget.
The freedom of birds is an insult to me.
And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up.
Best way to live in California is to be from somewheres else.
Ever step you take is forever. You cant make it go away. None of it. You understand what I'm sayin?
If much in the world were mystery the limits of that world were not, for it was without measure or bound and there were contained within it creatures more horrible yet and men of other colors and beings which no man has looked upon and yet not alien none of it more than were their own hearts alien in them, whatever wilderness contained there and whatever beasts.
Probably I dont believe in a lot of things that I used to believe in but that doesnt mean I dont believe in anything.
What business is it of yours where I'm from, friendo?
Acts have their being in the witness. Without him who can speak of it? In the end one could even say that the act is nothing, the witness all.
He lay listening to the water drip in the woods. Bedrock, this. The cold and the silence. The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void. Carried forth and scattered and carried forth again. Everything uncoupled from its shoring. Unsupported in the ashen air. Sustained by a breath, trembling and brief. If only my heart were stone.
The man smiled at him a sly smile. As if they knew a secret between them, these two. Something of age and youth and their claims and the justice of those claims. And of their claims upon them. The world past, the world to come. Their common transciencies. Above all a knowing deep in the bone that beauty and loss are one.
For even if you should have stood your ground, he said, yet what ground was it?
You can tell it any way you want but that's the way it is. I should of done it and I didnt. And some part of me has never quit wishin I could go back. And I cant. I didn't know you could steal your own life. And I didnt know that it would bring you no more benefit than about anything else you might steal. I thinkI done the best with itI knew how but itstill wasntmine. It neverhas been.
I always thought when I got older that God would sort of come into my life in some way. He didn't. I don't blame him. If I was him I'd have the same opinion about me that he does.
In every trade save war men of talent and vigor prosper. In war they die.
We think we are the victims of time. In reality, the way of the world isn't fixed anywhere. How could that be possible? We are our own journey. And therefore we are time as well. We are the same. Fugitive. Inscrutable. Ruthless.
Notions of chance and fate are the preoccupations of men engaged in rash undertakings.
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