They rode on. They rode like men invested with a purpose whose origins were antecedent to them, like blood… — Cormac McCarthy
They rode on. They rode like men invested with a purpose whose origins were antecedent to them, like blood legatees of an order both imperative and remote. For although each man among them was discrete unto himself, conjoined they made a thing that had not been before and in that communal soul were wastes hardly reckonable more than those whited regions on old maps where monsters do live and where there is nothing other of the known world save conjectural winds.
p. 158Source: Wikiquote · CC BY-SA 4.0
More from this book
Spanish: "People say the coyote is a witch. Most of the time, the witch is a coyote."
p. 75
Where is yesterday? Where is Glanton and Brown and where is the priest? He leaned closer. Where is Shelby, whom you left to the mercies of Elias in the desert, and where is Tate whom you abandoned in the mountains? Where the ladies, ah the fair and tender ladies with whom you danced at the governor's ball when you were a hero anointed with the blood of the enemies of the republic you'd elected to defend? And where is the fiddler and where the dance?
p. 344
This is a terrible place to die in.
Where’s a good one?
p. 217
