Like a carpenter with two broken legs at the bottom of a beautiful staircase. Maybe I can't climb the stairs, ma'am, but at least let me admire the workmanship.

Declined. I went inside to pay cash. This had happened before, but not often. There was something about that word that sucked the self-respect out of your soul. This time it sucked out all my hope as well.

A Jewish Native American half-breed orphan playing bagpipes wasn't the sort of impression I ever wanted to make

What didn't kill you didn't make you stronger, or even wiser, it waited patiently for another chance.

We thought we'd seen it all. The real horror of war is always waiting for you at home. It's waiting, I tell you. We were so damned happy when we got back. We'd made it. We survived. But it's always waiting. Waiting. You let down your guard. And there it is. You can't ever let up. Give up.

A look passed between the two men. I felt it graze the side of my head. It was that kind of look.

Out in the desert what doesn't kill you just pisses you off and will probably kill you the next time.

In all those stories about people who sold their souls to the devil, I never quite understood why the devil was the bad guy, or why it was okay to screw him out of his soul. They got what they wanted: fame, money, love, whatever—though usually it turned out not to be what they really wanted or expected. Was that the devil's fault? I never thought so. Like John Wayne said, "Life's tough. It's even tougher when you're stupid.

When someone says we need to talk, what he or she usually means is you will listen. Any conversation that takes place will be accidental.

My visit didn't take long. Saying thanks never does. It's the excuses that eat up time.