All of them had a restlessness in common.

We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say — and to feel — "Yes, that’s the way it is, or at least that’s the way I feel it. You’re not as alone as you thought."

Eventlessness has no posts to drape duration on. From nothing to nothing is no time at all.

We know what we got, and we don't care whether you know it or not.

Doc tips his hat to dogs as he drives by and the dogs look up and smile at him.

Maybe the hardest thing in writing is simply to tell the truth about things as we see them.

I think there must have been some other girl printed somewhere in his heart, for he was a man of love and his wife was not a woman to show her feelings.