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On June 1, Hayes opened still further the gulf between the two countries. Col Shafter had reported that the Indians were now taking refuge in Mexican towns, and in an endorsement Gen Ord had asked "how far in such cases I can authorize the troops to go." The answer came: Ord was free "when in pursuit of a band of marauders, and when his troops are either in sight of them or on a fresh trail, to follow them."

The ultimate responsibility for the disaster must rest with Custer. He departed from Terry's plan even though the circumstances on which it was premised turned out to be exactly as foreseen. He precipitated a battle a day early, with worn-out men and horses, and knowing the strength and position of the enemy. He committed his regiment piecemeal and at the critical time no component was in supporting range.

The long restraint of men's respect seemed to have given him a peculiar relish for infamy. He experienced a certain lascivious enjoyment of wickedness. In those frightful moral abysses so rarely sounded, such natures find atrocious delights—they are the obscenities of rascality. The long endured insipidity of the false reputation for virtue gave him a sort of appetite for shame.

Such houses are considered to be haunted. Satan is popularly believed to visit them by night. Houses are like the human beings who inhabit them. They become to their former selves what the corpse is to the living body. These ghostly houses are common in the Channel Islands.

When she explained about the key, he said that cars worked better with their ignition switched on. Adela mounted the steep, creaking stairs. She wished, as she still occasionally found herself doing, that her brother would let her love him, but of course it was too late for that.

Various Europeans came to Ishmaelia. They came as missionaries, ambassadors, tradesmen, prospectors, natural scientists. None returned. They were eaten every one of them; some raw, others stewed and seasoned -- according to local usage.

I put my faith in the art of tattooing. It is a ritual art, a cult. It has come down to us from the medicine men to the Indians. When on my nephew's behalf I sought more detailed information about its practitioners, they turned out to be a mysterious guild, a kind of freemasonry.

--Why are you so awful
--yES, I used to ask myself that quite a lot. Not so much of late however. Well, I think a frightful lot of of it's tied up with being a snob, you know. Very angst-producing business, being a snob. No time to relax and take things easy. You have to be on duty all the time, as it were.

A third kind of pain got going in Roger. Retrospective in nature, it came from not having reached out a foot and tipped Macher, chair and all, into the water as soon as he opened his horrible mouth.

The conundrum, then, is obvious. If the indios de los pueblos identified by the early Spanish explorers are a single people, what can possibly account for the crazy quilt of languages spoken among the twenty villages today? It's one of the most intractable problems in all of Southwestern prehistory.

Who are you going to scream to when the chotas pour honey all over you and start eating you like a sopaipilla?

Abby Tedesky had what would have to be described as a "very traumatic experience" In Milagro. The minute her swish Cardinal crimson rent-a-car floated like a cruising shark into town, the inhabitants pegged her fo either a flim-flam woman, a traveling puta, or Kyril Montana's other half, a lady cop, and, beginning with a pebble pelting by Mercedes Rael, they acted more or less accordingly.

When she had a pile of seven, Stella gutted and skinned and cleaned the rabbits as unconcernedly as she has denuded and disemboweled the roosters. After that, drenched to the elbows in bunny gore, she sat down and smoked a cigarette with a placid, beautiful look on her broad face, a look so queer and detached it made Herbie's testicles whimper as they shrank up higher into his shriveled scrotum.

He actually occasionally wanted this beanfield thing to blow up into something where he would wind up walking out his front door with a rifle blazing, only t be riddled for once and for all by their fucking bullets in return.

I went inside the club, where the late afternoon crowd were enjoying themselves, if gamblers could be said to enjoy themselves. They wheedled cards or dice like sinners praying to heaven for one small mercy. They pulled convulsively at the handles of one-armed bandits, as if the machines were computers that would answer all their questions. Am I getting old? Have I failed? Am I immature? Does she love me?

Teach them that skepticism and cynicism in life are cheap, that it's a lot easier and more boring than being continually surprised and pleased by life.

Imitate the young Spartan, who smiled although the fox, hidden in his cloak, was gnawing his vitals. Le us avoid ridicule, my friend.

Hector found it all incomprehensible. He kept wondering how he had come to this, finally deciding it was Hollywood. The insanity of Hollywood will eventually overwhelm you, he thought....

With respect, Doug, what an extraordinary number of things you don't think about and haven't got time for. Science fiction, Religion. Whether the country's headed for moral anarchy. Marrying Vivvy or evidently anybody else, either. I expect you must find a great deal to occupy you in other ways.

Then there's flagellation. I never seriously considered that. It strikes you, sure, but what's it got to do with anything? You might as well play tennis or knit a pair of socks as a way of working up to a screw. And the same goes for those other capers like necrophily and bestiality. No point in even discussing any of them. It would just be flogging a dead horse.

A man held out his hand, but the concierge didn't see it, or not clearly -- in any case, she wasn't paying attention. Her ferreting eyes had settled on another object: a towel soaked in blood, glaring deep red against the cold marble.

An adventure is never an adventure when it's happening. Challenging experiences ned time to ferment, and an adventure is simply physical and emotional discomfort recollected in tranquillity.

The civilized people in the world, the ones who hide behind culture and art and politics ... and even the law, they're the ones to watch out for. They've got that perfect disguise goin' for them, you know? But they're the most vicious. They're the most dangerous people on earth.

He dreamed of the coyote again. The animal was on a mountain path where there were no homes, no cars, no people. It was moving very quickly as if it was trying to get away, But the path and place were his. He knew the land and knew he would escape. What it was he fled from was never clear, never seen. But it was there, behind him in the dark. And the coyote knew by instinct it must get away.

Normal disposal is by inhumement, entombment, inurnment, or immurement, but many people just lately prefer insarcophagusment.

The canyon was a place where the new rich—rock stars, writers, film actors and drug dealers—came to live. The braved the mudslides and the monumental traffic tie-ups just to call Laurel Canyon home.

In closing, I would like to quote to you from Friedrich Nietzsche who said 'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you....

I'm all right, and there are legions like me, and we really are all right. Everything in the world may perish, but we shall not perish. We shall exist as long as the world exists. All the world may sink, but we shall float, we shall always float to the top.

It was a gloomy story, one of those gloomy and distressing dramas which are so often played out unseen, almost mysterious, under the heavy sky of Petersburg, in the dark secret corners of the vast town, in the midst of the giddy ferment of life, of dull egoism, of clashing interests, of gloomy vice and secret crimes, in that lowest hell of senseless and abnormal life. . . .

We shall have to work out our future happiness by suffering: pay for it somehow by fresh miseries. Everything is purified by suffering.... Oh, Vanya, how much pain there is in the world!