Epitaph Quotes

“Ringo's chuckle got tangled up with a cough. He tossed back a shot, cleared his throat, and said, "Politics, from the Latin. Poly, meaning 'many.' Ticks meaning 'bloodsucking little bastards.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“No one who does not live with constant pain can imagine the toll it takes. The way it grinds you down. The sheer damnable tedium of it.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“IF YOU WANT A STORYBOOK ENDING, stop—now—and remember them in that tender moment. Be content to know that they embarked on a series of adventures throughout the West and that they stayed together through thick and thin for forty-five years.

But know this as well: If their story ended here, no one would remember them at all.

Where a tale begins and where it ends matters. Who tells the story, and why . . . That makes all the difference.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“For five weeks, the Associated Press had provided the world with lurid coverage of the attack on Virgil Earp, which was labeled Cow Boy revenge for what was being called “the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral” because it took too long to set the type for “Gunfight in the Vacant Lot behind Camillus Fly’s Photography Studio Near Fremont Street.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“Do what works. That was the motto. Grab what you can when you can. That was the plan. It was not a golden age, as Mr. Twain had recently pointed out, but a cheap and flashy gilded one. A time of fakery and exuberant corruption, of patronage and cronyism and every species of shameless self-seeking. In such times, even honorable men give up trying to draw the line. It’s different now, they always think. Everything is different now.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“The answer was clear, though he half-expected his hand to shrivel and turn black when he voted for a Republican.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“When a man beats his boy, he wants a son who won't buck him. He's trying to make a coward. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it works.

And the hundredth boy?

We can go either way. Kill the old man, or try to become a better one.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“Raise your sights, sugar. Aim low all you'll hit is rats, snakes and rock bottom" from Epitaph”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“Its not lying, it's remembering things the way they should have been.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“Wyatt Earp had been born, and born again, and now there would be a third life, for the iron fist that had seized his soul in childhood had lost its grip at last. The long struggle for control was over, and in its place, he found a wordless acceptance of a truth he'd always known. He was bred to this anger. It had been in him since the cradle. He'd never bullied neighbors or beaten a horse. He'd never punched the front teeth out of a six-year-old's mouth or hit a woman until she begged. But he was no better than his father, and never had been. He was far, far worse.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“Sadie was at his side when the old desire to leave everything behind rose up in him again.

“Suppose . . .” he began. “Suppose . . .”

Then he moved on, one last time.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“On the afternoon of October 26, 1881, the Earps were incorruptible, intrepid lawmen bravely marching off to protect the city from gun-toting outlaws. The next morning, they were cold-blooded killers who’d murdered three men on a public street because of some kind of personal feud between Doc Holliday and Ike Clanton.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“Wyatt Earp had been born, and born again, and now there would be a third life, for the iron fist that had seized his soul in childhood had lost its grip at last. The long struggle for control was over, and in its place, he found a wordless acceptance of a truth he’d always known. He was bred to this anger. It had been in him since the cradle. He’d never bullied neighbors or beaten a horse. He’d never punched the front teeth out of a seven-year-old’s mouth or hit a woman until she begged. But he was no better than his father, and never had been. He was far, far worse.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“A tale begins and where it ends, matters. Who tells the story and why, that makes all the difference.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“When she finished, no one clapped or even breathed, for they were still inside that sacred place that music can sometimes create.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“I would not have voted for the man,” Doc admitted, “but this—” He lifted a fine-boned hand toward the street, where small groups of Cow Boys were now tearing down Allen on horseback, shooting at the sky and racing beyond the city limits before the police could do anything about the ruckus. “This is indecent.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“It was politicians saying, “Let’s you and him fight!”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“I would expect nothin’ less of Miss Louisa, but two witnesses are all you need. Nobody else has to know.” He looked away. “Make her your wife, even if you can’t give her children.” Morgan chewed on that awhile before he asked, “What about you, Doc? You ever think about being married?” “All the time,” Doc said, “but she’s in a convent now.” Morgan just about fell off his barrel. “Kate’s in a convent?” Doc’s wheezy laugh lurched into a serious coughing fit, but his eyes were merry over the handkerchief. “God a’mighty, Morgan! If you could see your face! No, not Kate. There was a girl back in Georgia I might have married if I hadn’t come out here for my health. Martha Anne will always be dear to me, but she is a bride of Christ now. At my best, I could not have rivaled Lord Jesus, and I am a long way from my best.” Doc ground the stub of his little black cigar into the dust. Morgan stood and offered the dentist an arm for leverage. “As for Miss Kate,” Doc concluded wryly, “she is a foul-mouthed, pigheaded Hungarian harridan who has made it amply clear that she would not have me on a silver platter.” He looked northward, toward Globe, Arizona. “Even so . . . I miss her.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“From the persistence of her admirer’s pursuit, he had imagined someone young and beautiful; Miss Elder was nigh onto thirty, thin-lipped and thick-waisted, with a face that failed to charm. He was, nonetheless, struck by a fearsome intelligence blazing in eyes the color of Indian turquoise when she thrust the form through his grate. “Send that!” she snapped. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, flinching when the office door banged shut behind her. He sighed when he read her message, then dutifully tapped it out. GO TO HELL STOP Moments later, a message came back—not from J. H. Holliday but from the Western Union man in Tombstone to his counterpart in Globe: DAMN SHE MUST BE SOMETHING STOP I GUESS came the reply from Globe, BUT ANGER IS A HORSE THAT WOMAN CAN RIDE FOR DISTANCE.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“You got yourself a deal!” Ike said happily. “Ike,” Ringo said, “the devil himself is going to recommend you to God, just to keep you out of hell.” Ike’s mouth worked a bit. You could see he was trying to decide if that was good or bad, but he shut up while he figured it out.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“It’s not lying, he thought. It’s just remembering things the way they should have been.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“They called him the Lion of Tombstone and sold a lot of newspapers. It wasn’t lying. It was letting a lucrative legend replace an old man’s life.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“He’d given her fair warning. “I am not a good man,” he’d said, and he meant it, but she’d thought he was just being modest, or Methodist, or something.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“From what I hear, Ike can’t count to twenty-one unless he’s buck naked.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph

“He respected her before he loved her, and he loved her before he finished his lunch that first day.”
― Mary Doria Russell, Epitaph