First Frost (Walt Longmire, #20)

by Craig Johnson

‘If you would know the age of the earth, look upon the sea in a storm—’ ” I finished the line for him. “ ‘The grayness of the whole immense surface, the wind furrows upon the faces of the waves, the great masses of foam, tossed about and waving, like matted white locks, give the sea in a gale an appearance of hoary age, lusterless, dull, without gleams, as though it had been created before light itself.’ ”

Bobby Troup wrote the song “Route 66” on a road trip across the country, even rattling off locations along the way, but for some reason left out Albuquerque—maybe because it was hard to find something that rhymed with it.

better to give up and do as Prefab Sprout did, hot dog, jumping frog, Albuquerque ! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pe4_3EazskA

“It is used in Noh or Kyōgen plays as well as during kagura performance of Shinto ritual dance.” He held it up to the light. “The Hannya mask portrays the souls of women who have become demons through obsessions or jealousy, something like the Buddhist portrayal of the hungry ghost. The wearer is said to be not only demonic but sad and tormented.” He moved the thing at different angles. “You see, the emotions of the wearer can be manipulated by the degree and angle of stage light upon the mask.”

“Good luck over there, guys, and remember if the enemy is in range—so are you.” The Bear raised a fist. “Draft beer, not people.”

Words are important, young man, they define our world. Internment camps sounds a lot better than prison or concentration camp, doesn’t it?” “Yep, it does.” He stared out at the ridge that led to the mountains. “I was a linguist and a teacher in my youth, but it took a very long time for me to understand the power of words—designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable.” “George Orwell.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my interactions with my fellow man have led me to living alone in the desert with a mule and a cactus.” “Don’t you feel any responsibility to those people who died?” “You are too young to understand, but we the living have no responsibilities to the dead, our accountabilities to them have passed and they no longer have any more use for us than we have for them—our duties are to the living, and that should occupy us enough.”

“You know, a priest may be tortured, maimed, killed, fined, imprisoned, but he may not disclose the knowledge he has acquired in the confessional. He may not reveal anything under this seal to anyone, not even to the penitent himself unless the penitent permits him. Under no conditions may this be qualified; the seal of confession is inviolate for this is true confession to the Lord himself as a matter of de fide dogma.”

“He was there when those people were murdered?” “That, I cannot say.” “He reported them?” The priest said nothing. Having finished the carrot, I got up and walked over to him. “To whom?” “The diocesan bishop.” “And what happened?” “I don’t know, but I assume it was covered by the priest-penitent privilege and nothing was done.” He shook his head, looking up at me. “I do know that Father Pietro was transferred and spent the rest of his life in penance at a monastery in Idaho where he slowly lost his mind.

Perhaps it was my experiences in Manchuria, but I have never been able to exercise the certainty of mindset that religious people seem to achieve.” “I think they refer to it as faith, but I’m afraid I don’t understand…” “And neither do I.”

in the absence of law there is power, and power in that instance becomes the law.” “That’s just force.” “And even with all its ceremony and claptrap, that is all the law is, trust me.”

“I thought you didn’t like guns?” “That doesn’t mean I don’t see the need for them.”

“You can’t go around killing everybody who’s stupid, first of all because you can’t afford the ammunition and second because there won’t be anybody left.”