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John
https://www.goodreads.com/mistreader
“He smiled a little wearily. “Wal, old — trail driver, we pay,” he whispered, feebly. “I reckon — I cain’t — wait for — little gray-eyed — Ann!”.”
― The Trail Driver: A Western Story
― The Trail Driver: A Western Story
“It was still not too late to begin, but Jeeter did not have a mule, and he did not have the credit to purchase seed-cotton and guano at the stores. Up until this year, he had lived in the hope that something would happen at the last moment to provide a mule and credit, but now it seemed to him that there was no use hoping for anything any more. He could still look forward to the following year when he could perhaps raise a crop of cotton, but it was an anticipation not so keen as it once had been. He had felt himself sink lower and lower, his condition fall further and further, year after year, until now his trust in God and the land was at the stage where further disappointment might easily cause him to lose his mind and reason. He still could not understand why he had nothing, and would never have anything, and there was no one who knew and who could tell him. It was the unsolved mystery of his life.”
― Tobacco Road
― Tobacco Road
“At the present moment, here he was in Greece, and one of the dreams of his life was realized. Forty years ago he had caught the fever of Hellenism, and all his life he had felt that could he but visit that land, he would not have lived in vain. But Athens had been dusty, Delphi wet, Thermopylae flat, and he had listened with amazement and cynicism to the rapturous exclamations of his companions. Greece was like England: it was a man who was growing old, and it made no difference whether that man looked at the Thames or the Eurotas. It was his last hope of contradicting that logic of experience, and it was failing.”
― The Celestial Omnibus and other Stories
― The Celestial Omnibus and other Stories
“Even if exile is spent in the most beautiful city in the world, Brunetti realized, it is still exile.”
― Death at La Fenice
― Death at La Fenice
“Saddle horses lined the hitching-rails as far as Brite could see. Canvas-covered wagons, chuck-wagons, buckboards, vehicles of all Western types, stood outside the saddle horses. And up one side and down the other a procession ambled in the dust. On the wide sidewalk a throng of booted, belted, spurred men wended their way up or down. The saloons roared. Black-sombreroed, pale-faced, tight-lipped men stood beside the wide portals of the gaming-dens. Beautiful wrecks of womanhood, girls with havoc in their faces and the look of birds of prey in their eyes, waited in bare-armed splendor to be accosted. Laughter without mirth ran down the walk. The stores were full. Cowboys in twos and threes and sixes trooped by, young, lithe, keen of eye, bold of aspect, gay and reckless. Hundreds of cowboys passed Brite in that long block from the hotel to the intersecting street. And every boy gave him a pang. These were the toll of the trail and of Dodge. It might have been the march of empire, the tragedy of progress, but it was heinous to Brite. He would never send another boy to his death.”
― The Trail Driver: A Western Story
― The Trail Driver: A Western Story
John’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at John’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
4,569 books
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5,000 friends
183 books
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4,083 friends
975 books
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1,528 friends
3,446 books
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162 friends
1,310 books
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58 friends
2,180 books
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97 friends
451 books
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3,260 friends
9 books
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1 friend
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