Depth of Winter (Walt Longmire, #14)

by Craig Johnson

“Kindness to a killer builds coffins.”

“Sometimes, when there aren’t any other options, you should just stay crazy.”

“I’ve been in this business almost my whole life, and I can tell you that who’s the biggest, meanest, toughest, smartest doesn’t mean a damn thing. It’s who is willing to go further than anybody else, and to save my daughter, I’ll go as far as hell and back and never blink an eye.”

“We’ll cross that bridge after we burn it.”

This is the title of my autobiography.

Henry Standing Bear says that the greatest thing you can do to respect the dead is to remember them, to keep them in your mind so that they do not slip away into that cold, dark infinity that awaits all of us.

You find that kernel of madness at an early age, and if you’re lucky you start building up a callus around it, a tough layer of humanity that holds it at bay, because it’s just too dangerous to allow to escape. Your family can’t ever see it, your friends can’t ever see it, no one must ever see it—but it’s there, waiting to burn the protective covering away that has taken a lifetime to build and burst open like a volcanic canker of maniacal emotion.