Quotes from C.J. Box

The last time he'd gone to see his father he had to introduce himself as his son. His father had said, "Joe? Joe Schmoe? Go get me a flask, Joe Schmoe.

But don't you find that certain songs remind you of certain things in your life? That when you hear a specific song it takes you back to when you were listening to it?

So we take infinitesimal little actions like preventing oil exploration, or recycling our beer cans, or driving hybrid cars that cost twenty-five times what a Third World worker makes in a year, or shaming other people for their desire to live well and prosper . . .

You see, humans always leave something behind.

It's inevitable that when there are hundreds of thousands of bureaucrats with endless budgets, who have no accountability and can't be fired, that these things are bound to happen.

Cody put his cup in the saucer and lowered his voice. "When I talked to you earlier you said something about this not being the first time some girls came up missing around here. Care to expound on that topic a little?" Legerski paused and looked into Cody with well-practiced, all-seeing cop eyes. Searching Cody for something. Cody just looked back, squinting through the smoke of his third cigarette since he'd walked in.

JACK HEARD A HEAVY SPLASH and he turned around in his seat again.

He drank a quarter of the drink, then topped off the glass with more Jim Beam. Joe was not much of a drinker anymore, although he'd done more than his share in college and when he worked with Vern. But his intake of alcohol always increased proportionately when his mother-in-law was around.

Sorel pac boots,

Good hunters considered hunting a solemn privilege and a means to reconnect with the natural world, to place themselves back on earth, into a place without supermarkets, processed foods, and commercial meat manufacturing industries. Hunting was basic, primal, and humbling.

Men are what their mothers made them. —RALPH WALDO EMERSON, The Conduct of Life

Winter was held off for yet another day although it didn't even attempt to hide its dark intentions anymore, and the weather was cool and clear. Pockets of aspen performed maudlin technicolor death scenes on the mountainsides while brittle dry leaves choked the small streams and skittered across the road with breaths of wind.

ALLERGIES: Ex-husband and Donald Trump

The bar offered no food or big-screen TVs and catered to hard customers. From the outside it looked as inviting as a prison cell except with neon beer signs—Ranier, Pabst—filling the square windows. Three Harleys sat out front pointed out toward the street, front wheels cocked to the side.

Emigrant was one of those towns that was more a location on the map than a real town, since the only building was, in fact, the First National Bar, established in 1902, or so the hand-painted sign read outside.

Dakota shrugged. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but something is. You look ahead of us at all those people on horses in this setting, and you think, what a perfect thing. But what you don't know is what's going on in everyone's head, and what they might be thinking about everyone else. "That," she said, "is the reason I prefer horses.

Cassie paused at the door. She could smell cigarette smoke and hear the click of pool balls. She almost turned around and walked back to her Honda. Instead, she steeled herself and pulled the door open, to be greeted by a sensory rush of smoke, stale beer, and Lynyrd Skynyrd from the jukebox.

It was dark inside and unevenly lighted. The mood was as intimate as a small beat-up warehouse. There were photos tacked to the walls and names carved into the pine paneling. The floor was gritty with dirt.

Outrageous accusations should be met with outraged denials if the person accused was innocent.

Black, yellow, brown, and white Diversity is what makes the world seem right Diversity, Dee-verse-i-teeeeee

He's a man of few words," Danielle said with her patented lah-de-dah intonation, although the set to her face belied her tone.

NOWHERE TO RUN. 1 Three hours after he'd broken camp, repacked, and pushed his horses higher into the mountain range, Wyoming game warden Joe Pickett paused on the lip of a wide hollow basin and dug in his saddlebag for his notebook.

I've got a question," said Tristan Glode. His voice was stentorian and without humor. "Yes, sir?" Jed said. He knew instantly Glode was the kind of man who would expect and appreciate deference and would reward it with a big tip.

We shouldn't automatically oppose everything. I mean, what makes us so fucking smart? We're the beneficiaries of people before us figuring out shit that makes our lives better or helps us live longer. Why stop now, just because we think we know it all?