What Would You Do If I Died?

You Forget What You Want To Remember, And You Remember What You Want To Forget.

What He Loved In Horses Was What He Loved In Men, The Blood And The Heat Of The Blood That Ran Them. All His Reverence And All His Fondness And All The Leanings Of His Life Were For The Ardenhearted And They Would Always Be So And Never Be Otherwise. (all The Pretty Horses)

Life Is A Memory, And Then It Is Nothing.

No Lists Of Things To Be Done. The Day Providential To Itself. The Hour. There Is No Later. This Is Later. All Things Of Grace And Beauty Such That One Holds Them To One's Heart Have A Common Provenance In Pain. Their Birth In Grief And Ashes.

Somewhere In The World Is The Most Invincible Man. Just As Somewhere Is The Most Vulnerable.