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“These two developments throw light on what is perhaps the most fundamental difference between the Renaissance and all previous periods of art. We have repeatedly seen that there were these circumstances which could compel the artist to make a distinction between the "technical" proportions and the "objective;" the influence of organic movement, the influence of perspective foreshortening, and the regard for the visual impression of the beholder. These three factors of variation have one thing in common: they all presuppose the artistic recognition of subjectivity. Organic movement introduces into the calculus of artistic composition the subjective will and the subjective emotions of the thing represented; foreshortening the subjective visual experience of the artist; and those "eurhythmic" adjustments which alter that which is right in favor of what seems right, the subjective visual experience of a potential beholder. And it is the Renaissance which, for the first time, not only affirms but formally legitimizes and rationalizes these three forms of subjectivity.”
― Erwin Panofsky, Meaning in the Visual Arts

“The terrible price of living, ain’t it? To live through others dying?”
― J.D. Jordan, Calamity: Being an Account of Calamity Jane and Her Gunslinging Green Man

“A tree.â€� She spotted one. It was hidden behind a much larger tree, its limbs misshapen in its attempt to fight for even a little sunlight in the shadow. “Dana has this tradition of giving a sad-looking tree the honor of being a Christmas tree.â€� She walked over to the small, nearly hidden tree. “I like this one. “It’s…â€�
He laughed. “Ugly?�
“No, it’s beautiful because it’s had a hard life. It’s struggled to survive against all odds and would keep doing that without much hope. But it has a chance to be something special.”
― B.J. Daniels, Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene

“They collided, and rolled toward the precipice. Loose rocks shifted beneath them, causing a small avalanche that carried the two ragged enemies plunging off the edge towards the abyss below.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“And in the silence what followed, I reckon our eyes had some long conversation our mouths could’ve never talked through. Some long, looking talk about things gone and long since said. About cries out in the night and some long ago tangling of limbs. And about them betrayals done time and time again—by both of us—what led to me pointing the Green Man’s rifle at the man what once loved me under the Green Man’s stars.”
― J.D. Jordan, Calamity: Being an Account of Calamity Jane and Her Gunslinging Green Man

“The bigness of the West makes men quiet; they seldom talk unless they have something to say.”
― William S. Hart, My Life East & West

“All this time I kept my gaze fixed on hers, an enormously difficult task given the gravitational pull exerted by her cleavage. While I was critical of many things when it came to so-called Western civilization, cleavage was not one of them. The Chinese might have invented gunpowder and the noodle, but the West had invented cleavage, with profound if underappreciated implications.”
― Viet Thanh Nguyen, The Sympathizer

“I think the best way I can put it,â€� Tom summarized, “was what I was once told that a Confederate prisoner said to his Union captor. The Yank said: ‘Why do you fight us so hard, Reb?â€�, and his prisoner replied: ‘Because you are here, Yankâ€�.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“The back barn door opened, and in walked a vision in a billowing green dress. As she led in her mare, Mr. McBride’s voice faded away as Tom’s total attention turned to the girl. About twenty-one or two, Tom guessed. Not too tall, nor short. Beautiful heart-shaped face decorated with rosy cheeks and light freckles. Long auburn hair tied back in a ponytail. Perfectly set green eyes. Full-bosomed and hourglass shaped. Breathtaking.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“It looks like you’ll be dying in Hellfire after all, Captain!â€� Slaughter shouted. “Just like your family in that Georgia shack did. Ha! Oh yes, I heard their screams inside! It was music to my ears!â€�
Tom shouted back across the flames. “Whether you die by my hands today or not, you’ll be the one in Hell, with your twin Lucifer, you MURDERING BASTARD!”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“The night sky is filled brimful as a night sky can be, lit brightly as it is with clusters of planets and pulsating stars and marriages of galaxies, all of it within a wobble of dust and gas and debris unseen. There are the Dippers Little and Big tonight, a lovely Pleiades, and a throbbing red star out like a tiny heart. This is the stuff of which we are made, I say to Son, all that is of us above us. We stand together looking upward, our mouths hung open as if to swallow what's above down and into us. Looking out at the past in its far distance, where from there, he we are not.”
― Susan Froderberg, Old Border Road

“A scratching of melody comes from the radio, chords rising open as the land that carries us, rhythm mimicking our passage down the road, harmony making this life seem it should be only that. We sing along to what songs have always been about- beginning, going on, breaking up, forgiving, We sing in missed words and broken phrases as glints of tiger moths fly at us like snow, streaking the windshield over.”
― Susan Froderberg, Old Border Road

“He traced her arched eyebrow. “Every morning when I wake up with you at my side, you’re more beautiful than yesterday.”
― Lindsay McKenna, Wind River Wrangler

“My father had seen in a flash that they were all gunmen, so he told me to stand still, although we were right in a possible line of fire. If near a gun-fight and the weapons are wielded by amateurs, run for your life; if professionals are handling the trigger, stand still â€� they know where they are shooting.”
― William S. Hart, My Life East & West

“He locked gazes with her. “I have to wonder why you aren’t being straight with me. I hate getting myself killed without knowing why.”
― B.J. Daniels, Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene

“He’d been trying to save this woman in his dreams for years. Now here she was, all grown up, and he still felt helpless.”
― B.J. Daniels, Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene

“I want to die.â€�
May shook her head. “Let me get a knife.�
“I’ve made a horrible mess of things.�
“Haven’t we all? If you don’t want your supper burned, die quietly while I get back to the kitchen.”
― B.J. Daniels, Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene

“You’re a real cowboy.â€�
He laughed. “You’re just now realizing that?”
― B.J. Daniels, Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene

“DJ saw the change in his expression the moment before he dropped the ax, reached out with his gloved hand and, cupping her neck, drew her to him. “I believe you owe me a kiss.”
― B.J. Daniels, Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene

“I’d prefer ‘Bonnie Blue Flagâ€�, if you take requests…â€� Tom had turned and rested his elbows on the bar. His hand was inches from the Colt. These were the men he was looking for.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“Now, if you don’t know ‘Bonnie Blue Flagâ€�, then ‘Dixieâ€� will do nicely…â€� Tom began, cocking the pistol.
Jesse stared, mouth agape at the carnage in the room.
“NOW PLAY!â€� Tom exploded.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“Shut it, right there, or I’ll give you a hole that won’t shut.â€� He pointed the Colt at Clinton, clicking back the hammer.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“Slaughter personified to him every evil of this war. It would never end for Tom until he had dealt with Slaughter. His chance had been delayed last night. The next time he encountered the Colonel, he’d kill him.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“Clinton leaned in close, breath stinking. “I’m a well-compensated lawman, Reb. Let’s leave it at that. You’ll never prove anything else.â€�
“You’re no lawman. You are a whore,â€� Tom growled.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unreconstructed

“...David Mich is the Hollywood genius who produced and wrote much of the HBO series Deadwood. Mr. Milch's story was an interesting one to me, at least as it emerged from maybe half a dozen profiles written about him back when Deadwood was in its heyday, and it goes like this: Mr. Milch had pined to do a western ever since he was an important writer on an
Emmy-winning network cop series and could just as easily have been a novelist, if I remember the story correctly, and after years of research and reading everything available on the old west decided to focus his talents on the town of Deadwood in the 1870s. But hold your horses, Tex. As Mr. Milch explained it, he didn't read everything after all, he read everything except the novel Deadwood, and was not only able on his own to come up with the same setting and feel and characters that populated the novel, but somehow intuited a footnote-in-history sort of character named Charlie Utter into pretty much the same human being who is the central character of the novel. Except Mr. Milch gave him an English accent, and if that's not Hollywood genius I don't know what is. ...
--Acknowledgments”
― Pete Dexter, Spooner

“Tom stood and cautiously walked over to where the thief lay. He kicked the Colt away from the dirty, lifeless fingers and muttered, “You made me waste a perfectly good breakfast, you manure-headed son of a bitchâ€�”
― C.G. Faulkner, Undaunted

“The twenty hooves of the horses slowed their relentless cadence on the damp ground as they approached the town. A sudden cloudburst had only just ended, and steaming snorts emitted from the winded mounts. From behind the edge of the bizarre leather mask that covered half of the leader’s face, a small smile of recognition curled on his chapped lips.”
― C.G. Faulkner, Unrepentant

“Great God!' Sir Wildon repeated dazedly. 'How many innocent lives did this "scratch paper" cost?'
Bandera shrugged. 'Who knows? We were too busy to keep score. But, Señor, none were innocent lives. In this world, everybody is guilty of something.”
― Joe Millard, Blood for a Dirty Dollar

“Squat, thick-bodied, swarthy, with the unmistakable stamp of Indian blood on his features, he was the dread Apachito himself- Mister Fifteen Thousand Dollars, in the language of the bounty hunting trade.”
― Joe Millard, A Coffin Full of Dollars

“The man in the middle was short and stocky, with swarthy skin and a black mustache that drooped almost to his chin. A colorful Mexican serape was draped across his saddle, and he wore a straw sombrero with an enormous brim.”
― Joe Millard, Blood for a Dirty Dollar