Max

“Now come days of begging, days of theft. Days of riding where there rode no soul save he. He's left behind the pinewood country and the evening sun declines before him beyond an endless swale and dark falls here like a thunderclap and a cold wind sets the weeds to gnashing. The night sky lies so sprent with stars that there is scarcely space of black at all and they fall all night in bitter arcs and it is so that their numbers are no less.”
― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West

“I took everything as seriously as if I were immortal.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre, The Wall

“He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die.”
― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West

“And I can't complain. After all, only women are able really to love”
― Yasunari Kawabata, Snow Country