I'd take a look at my own self in the mirror and wonder how it was possible that anybody could manage such an enormous thing as being what he was.
All I know is this: nobody's very big in the first place, and it looks to me like everybody spends their whole life tearing everybody else down.
Sometimes I looked at them and sometimes they looked at me, but rarely did we look at one another.
There's shames a man can never reason away, though he looks back and piles up reasons over them forty dozen deep. And maybe those are the shames a man never should reason away.
Along the western slopes of the Oregon Coastal Range . . . come look: the hysterical crashing of tributaries as they merge into the Wakonda Auga River . . .
The dead's dead ... get 'em in the ground and look to the live ones.