Quotes About Wilderness

He did not know how hawks mated but he knew that all things fought.

In the deep glens where they lived, all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.

By midmorning eight of the horses stood tied and the other eight were wilder than deer, scattering along the fence and bunching and running in a rising sea of dust as the day warmed, coming to reckon slowly with the remorselessness of this rendering of their fluid and collective selves into that condition of separate and helpless paralysis which seemed to be among them like a creeping plague.

Whoo, he said when he saw them. I'm drunkern shit. They sat their horses and looked down at him. Can you ride or not? said Rawlins. Does a bear shit in the woods? Hell yes I can ride. I was ridin when I fell off.

There ain't no law in Mexico. It's just a pack of rogues.

When he reached the fence he stopped for a moment to look back at the road and then he went on, crossing into a field of rank weeds that heeled with harsh dip and clash under the wind as if fled through by something unseen.

When he woke in the woods in

His own tracks came from the cave bloodred with cavemud and paled across the slope as if the snow had cauterized his feet until he left dry white prints in the snow.

There was no wind and the silence out there was greatly favored by every kind of fugitive as was the open country itself and no mountains close at hand for enemies to black themselves against.

They put their animals to the ford and crossed, the water up under the horses' bellies and the horses picking their way over the rocks and glancing wildly upstream where a cataract thundered out of the darkening forest into the flecked and seething pool below.

The rain had ripened all the country around and the roadside grass was luminous and green from the run-off and flowers were in bloom across the open country. He slept that night in a field far from any town. He built no fire. He lay listening to the horse crop the grass at his stakerope and he listened to the wind in the emptiness and watched stars trace the arc of the hemisphere and die in the darkness at the edge of the world and as he lay there the agony in his heart was like a stake.

The kid looked at the man. His head was strangely narrow and his hair was plastered up with mud in a bizarre and primitive coiffure. On his forehead were burned the letters H T and lower and almost between the eyes the letter F and these markings were splayed and garish as if the iron had been left too long. When he turned to look at the kid the kid could see that he had no ears.

I aint drinkin after no mule, said the hermit. Have you not got no old bucket nor nothin?

They stood among their horses in the squalid little alameda while the wind ransacked the trees and the birds nesting in the gray twilight cried out and clutched the limbs and the snow swirled and blew across the little square and shrouded the shapes of the mud buildings beyond and made mute the cries of the vendors who'd followed them.

The mountain road brick-red of dust laced with lizard tracks, coming up through the peach orchard, hot, windless, cloistral in a silence of no birds save one vulture hung in the smokeblue void of the sunless mountainside, rocking on the high updrafts, and the road turning and gated with bullbriers waxed and green, and the green cadaver grin sealed in the murky waters of the peach pit, slimegreen skull with newts coiled in the eyesockets and a wig of moss.

Glanton could see crouched in a corner a Mexican or halfbreed boy maybe twelve years old. He was naked save for a pair of old calzones and makeshift sandals of uncured hide. He glared back at Glanton with a sort of terrified insolence.

There was nothing along the road save the country it traversed and there was nothing in the country at all.

Cuando los corderos se pierden en el monte, dijo, se les oye llorar. Unas veces acude la madre. Otras el lobo. Les

Nothing moved in that purgatorial waste save carnivorous birds. By

El malpaís. Era un laberinto. Subías a toda prisa un pequeño promontorio y de repente te veías rodeado de grietas tan profundas que no te atrevías a saltarlas. Los bordes de cristal negro y puntiagudo y abajo puntiagudas rocas de sílex (...) Donde que nosotros sepamos está localizado el infierno

Nicht länger Celeste. Fuchs. Sie war Fuchs. Sie war frei.

where the moon was wrestling heroically to win free of the pack of clouds which hung on her like wolves on a white deer.

until I had wandered beyond railways, beyond stage lines, to a land of varmints and rattlesnakes, where the coming of a stranger was an event, and men lived and died in the shadow of one blue hill.

Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat!