Lonesome Dove

by Larry McMurtry

“If you live with Mexicans you can expect to eat beans, sooner or later.”

Metaphor

“It’s odd I partnered with a man like you, Call,” Augustus said. “If we was to meet now instead of when we did, I doubt we’d have two words to say to one another.” “I wish it could happen, then, if it would hold you to two words,” Call said.

Occasionally the very youngness of the young moved him to charity—they had no sense of the swiftness of life, nor of its limits. The years would pass like weeks, and loves would pass too, or else grow sour.

The best thing to do with a death was to move on from it.

“I see you’re in a hurry to get someplace. It’s a great mistake to hurry.” “Why?” Joe asked, puzzled by almost everything the traveler said. “Because the grave’s our destination,” Mr. Sedgwick said. “Those who hurry usually get to it quicker than those who take their time.

“I wish you’d stop talking about that boy’s death,” Call said. “If you would maybe they’d get over it.” “Wrong theory,” Augustus said. “Talk’s the way to kill it. Anything gets boring if you talk about it enough, even death.”

If you want one thing too much it’s likely to be a disappointment. The healthy way is to learn to like the everyday things,

“It ain’t dying I’m talking about, it’s living,” Augustus said. “I doubt it matters where you die, but it matters where you live.”

What he wanted most was what he could never have: for it not to have happened—any of it. Better by far never to have known the pleasure than to have the pain that followed.

He wondered if all men felt such disappointment when thinking of themselves. He didn’t know. Maybe most men didn’t think of themselves.

But yesterday’s gone on down the river and you can’t get it back.

“Don’t be trying to give back pain for pain,” he said. “You can’t get even measures in business like this.

Things happened, no matter how hard you cried.

“It oughta quit raining, it’s rained enough,” Pea Eye said, but the heavens ignored him.

“Which outfit are you with?” the old man asked. “I’m with myself,” July said. “Oh,” the man said. “A small outfit. This is a funny time of night to be starting out, ain’t it?” “I guess it is,” July said, but he started anyway.

It’s like I told you last night, son. The earth is mostly just a boneyard. “But pretty in the sunlight,” he added.

“It’s his dern laziness,” Call said. “Jake just kind of drifts. Any wind can blow him.”

It was a beautiful morning, light touching the farthest edges of the plains. Clara noticed the beauty and thought it strange that she could still respond to it, tired as she was

Everything took longer than it should, or else went too quick.

It was wearying, trying to adjust to all the paces life required.

“If you only come face to face with your own mistakes once or twice in your life it’s bound to be extra painful. I face mine every day—that way they ain’t usually much worse than a dry shave.”

“It doesn’t do to sacrifice for people unless they want you to,” Clara said. “It’s just a waste.”

Once started, love couldn’t easily be stopped.

“I know people ain’t smart and often love those who don’t care for them. Up to a point, I’m tolerant of that. Then past a point, I’m not tolerant of it. I think it’s a sickness to grieve too much for those who never cared a fig for you.”

things which seemed impossible often weren’t. They only became so if one thought about them too much so that fear took over. The thing to do was go.

“Maybe it ain’t as big a change as we think,” Clara said. “Maybe you just stay around near where you lived. Near your family, or wherever you was happiest. Only you’re just a spirit, and you don’t have the troubles the living have.”

“We might all get killed this afternoon, for all I know. That’s the wild for you—it’s got its dangers, which is part of the beauty. ’Course the Indians have had this land forever. To them it’s precious because it’s old. To us it’s exciting because it’s new.”

“Just because it’s all you know don’t mean it’s all you’d enjoy,” Augustus said.

Gus had died and left the world without taking him with him, so that once again he was left to do the work. He had always done the work—only he suddenly no longer believed in the work. Gus had tricked him out of his belief, as easily as if cheating at cards. All his work, and it hadn’t saved anyone, or slowed the moment of their going by a minute.