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“Lost a fight?” he’d asked, still out of breath. “The fight isn’t over until you win it, Fitz. That’s all you have to remember. No matter what the other man thinks. Or the horse.”
To finally confront the worst there is, to look it squarely in the face and say, “I know you. You have hurt me, almost to death, but still I live. And I will go on living.”
“I don’t know what he’d say to me. But I know I can say this for him, to you. I’m proud of you. It’s not the kind of work a man does that says he can be proud or not. It’s how he does it. Be proud of yourself.”
‘The man who must brag for himself knows that no one else will.’
It was possible to be homesick for a time, and to be lonely for the only other person who could recall it.
No man is so dangerous as the man who cannot decide what he fears. Regal is that man.
Then suddenly he hugged me to him, his bearded face bristling against mine and his hot tears falling on my face. He rocked me back and forth, sitting in the snow at the edge of my grave. “You’re not dead, son. You’re not dead.”
