He wanted to appear suddenly to her in novel and heroic colors. He wanted to stir her from that casualness she showed toward everything except herself.

The things that'll make you fail I'll love always.

I had traded the fight against love for the fight against loneliness, the fight against life for the fight against death.

Look at that,' she whispered, and then after a moment: 'I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.

Everything that begins, begins with blood.

The Montana sunset lay between the mountains like a giant bruise from which darkened arteries spread across a poisoned sky.

She was a mischief, and that was a satisfaction; no longer was she a huntress of corralled game