From the summer of my twelfth year I carry a series of images more vivid and lasting than any others of my boyhood and indelible beyond all attempts the years make to erase or fade them. — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
“A four-year-old has so little past, and he remembers almost none of it, neither the father he once had nor the house where he… — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
“Now no sign, no scorch or char, marks the place where George built the fire. Remarkable, earth's strength to restore itself and erase human… — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
Two months ago my mother died. She made, as the expression goes, a good death. — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
From the summer of my twelfth year I carry a series of images more vivid and lasting than any others of my boyhood and… — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
“From the bluffs east of the city, Gladstone, Montana looks as though it could have been laid out by a shotgun blast, the commercial… — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
“With so much unknown in this life, how little it takes for a face, a grove of trees, an outcropping of stone to become… — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
Autumn has come to northeast Montana. The vapor of one’s breath, the clarity of the stars, the smell of wood smoke, the stones underfoot… — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
“Long past the moment when her neck begins to stiffen and ache, she continues to stare into the darkness, even though none of the… — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
“The limitless, lowering sky, the long stretches of motionless empty prairie, the silence, complete right down to the absence of birdsong -- who knows… — larry watson Copy Share Image
“When night comes on in a room lit by kerosene, any flicker of the flame can give the sense that darkness is about to… — Larry Watson Copy Share Image
