Violence is the most elemental truth of life. It's the central shaper of history, the ultimate determiner of whether A or B is going to get his way. — James Carlos Blake Copy Share Image
“The family landed in the Western Hemisphere in the person of Roger Blake Wolfe, who arrived with a price on his head.” — James Carlos Blake Copy Share Image
“He finally comprehended that the sole impossibility regarding human sorrow is to arrive at some unsurpassable limit to it.” — James Carlos Blake Copy Share Image
“The moon grew plump and pale as a peeled apple, waned into the passing nights, then showed itself again as a thin silver crescent in the twilit western sky. The shed of leaves became a cascade of red and gold and after a time the trees stood skeletal against a sky of weathered tin. The land lay bled of its… — James Carlos Blake Copy Share
If a woman has a good ass the rest of her wil be nicely configured too, except for maybe the face. The face is… — James Carlos Blake Copy Share Image
“You do not tell people to go fuck themselves and then later when you're in trouble ask them to help you.” — James Carlos Blake Copy Share Image
“Some of us are always in the borderlands no matter where we might be on the map.” — James Carlos Blake Copy Share Image
“Pride has traditionally been regarded as the foremost of the Seven Deadly Sins, but it has rather obviously been overtaken by Greed.” — James Carlos Blake Copy Share Image
“But I'll tell you the truth,boys, he said. I'd give it all up in a minute if I could just be your age again. And I mean without a nickel in my pocket. All the money on earth aint worth spit compared to bein young and havin a dream to chase after. It's nice to arrive at it, no denyin… — James Carlos Blake Copy Share
The shed of leaves became a cascade of red and gold and after a time the trees stood skeletal against a sky of weathered tin. The land lay bled of its colors. The nights lengthened, went darker, brightened in their clustered stars. The chilled air smelled of wood smoke, of distances and passing time. Frost glimmered on the morning fields.… — James Carlos Blake Copy Share
“in the summer of 1845 Edward Little was sixteen years old and restless in his blood.” — James Carlos Blake Copy Share Image
