Quotes from William Kent Krueger

His apology had the dull ring of a cracked bell, but I didn't see any point in needling him further.

but those words that help to armor every child against the indifference of the world were never spoken. Liam

called Shattered Hearts: The Commercial Sexual Exploitation of American Indian Women and Girls in Minnesota. In 2011 the Minnesota Indian Women's Sexual Assault Coalition in conjunction with Prostitution Research and Education published their own report, titled Garden of Truth: The Prostitution and Trafficking of Native Women in Minnesota. These

When Emil returned from the Second World War blind and disfigured and wanting only to feed in isolation on the meat of his bitterness, his family had purchased and completely renovated a farmhouse that was a stone's throw from the edge of town.

It began to feel to me as if what had been broken was coming together again, but I knew it would never be exactly the same.

He looked at his hands. Big hands. How useless a man's hands were, he thought, when it came to fixing the important things."

Ghosts. There were too many of them in his life now. He lifted his glass, and with the last swallow of his sherry, he toasted the dead.

little insurance in case you're inclined toward a different destination." In the Jeep, Cork followed No Voice back up the dirt track to the compound. The Arapaho and his grandson still stood in the shade of the outbuilding. Cork waved as he passed to let them know he bore them no ill will. They didn't respond, just stood watching as the two vehicles kicked up dust on their way out.

I comfort myself with something Henry once told me. He said we all stumble in the dark, but that's why the Great Mystery gave us voices, so that we can call out, seeking others in the dark. And we were given hands so that we can reach out to help one another. Alone, the darkness swallows us. But together, we help each other through. So, when things seem bleakest, I tell myself to soldier on. I try to remind myself to call out. I do my best to be ready to offer a hand.

Life is a blessing and death a deliverance. Both are gifts, and neither is in our hands.

is wise, and if we listen to it, we will understand how to breathe again. I hope Meloux is right.

There was spirit in all things, Cork believed, knowledge in every molecule of creation. Nothing ever went truly unnoticed, from the fall of a single leaf to the death of a child.

It seemed that the good people were always cleaning up the messes.

And what is happiness, Nathan? In my experience, it's only a moment's pause here and there on what is otherwise a long and difficult road. No one can be happy all the time.

It was best to believe in all possibilities...there were more mysteries in the world than a man could ever hope to understand.

When you're a writer, you're always looking for conflict. It's conflict that drives great stories.

I used to ask for an easy life, now I ask to be strong.

Write because you love the work, not because of what might come from it. The journey is the purpose. Very Zen-like, I know, but honest to God it's the truth. And I have never had to deal with writer's block. Knock on wood.

You stopped looking for the truth...I'd guess that's a sin we've all been guilty of.

I think that whether we acknowledge it or not, our opinions as authors always influence our work. How can they not?

The dead are never far from us. They're in our hearts and on our minds and in the end all that separates us from them is a single breath, one final puff of air.

The miracle is this: that you will rise in the morning and be able to see again the startling beauty of the day.

I used to ask for an easy life, now I ask to be strong.

Of all that we're asked to give others in this life, the most difficult to offer may be forgiveness.