Dmb Quotes

Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we'll die

I fall so hard inside the idea of you

inprogram advertisement of SO, PP, and DMB in both their numbers and durations. The KCC removed the restriction on the number

is due to a rise in the provision of low-output radio, data broadcasting, DMB, and IPTV services and the extension of business permit

Eleven years ago he retired from life. Death was never really his style.

A man that knows how to be a friend will always find a friend when he needs one.

It seemed fitting that the sheriff would be more concerned about his precious toys than about stomping out a terrible evil.

In the twitcher’s place stood a man—a man so wrinkled his flesh looked cut and stacked, layer upon layer, and finally stitched together with catgut or fishing twine.

McCutchen knew a demon when he saw one, and he’d burn it out of the Catholic Hills like he’d burned it out of Matamoros years ago.

Chancho extended his hand. The woman stood on tiptoes, resting her breasts on the counter as she reached across to shake it. The view reminded him of God’s genius in creating woman.

I’m not certain.” “Well, you will be when my son returns, if he returns.” She feigned exasperation while tucking a ringlet of loose hair behind her ear. “He seems very bright.” “Oh he is, but he can be a handful. And my hands are so small.” She held one up for Chancho to inspect.

a bloated horse caught in a log jam,

Chancho stood, dusting off his knees. The boy continuing, “you should leave the dust, so that people will know you’ve been praying. It works with my mother.” Chancho followed the natural course of introductions. “How’s that?” “When I am supposed to come to church for morning prayers I play outside instead, but when I’m finished I make sure my knees are dirty so that I don’t get in trouble.” The boy grinned proudly. “That is very clever, but what excuse do you give God?” The boy looked insulted. “God doesn’t need any excuses, he knows my heart.” Bested, Chancho had to agree with the child’s logic.

When you have little, there is little to be taken, and much to defend.

End well, he repeated to himself. Even if he had no friends, he must be a friend.

What if the hunting party is not just hunting El Chupacabra?” Muddy nodded. “You mean what if they are after us.” “They may accuse us of stealing goats. They may be angry or jealous of the land. They will not need good reason, especially if empowered by the law. My father taught me well that the law is a false god to many. And the ranger —” “He is trouble.” Nena continued, “If he is anything like los rinches in Chancho’s stories, yes, he is trouble.

Getting old isn’t all rainbows and unicorn farts.

I see a father scared out of his wits. I see a man accustomed to following and giving orders, sure. But nothing in his training had equipped him for raising a little girl. And you know what, no one ever shook his hand to congratulate him with a job well done or to let him know the mission had been accomplished. No. Somehow, quietly, without him noticing, his job had just ended. His girl had grown into a woman. And the job he’d never known how to do, the job he’d screwed up in innumerable ways had miraculously become his proudest accomplishment. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling he hadn’t done a God-blessed thing.

We are not like other men, men with small minds gobbled up by avarice and superstition. Oppressors to take life from men who struggle to live. False gods to satisfy human hunger they are becoming.

I could think of no productive means to resist a voice in one’s own head, so I didn’t try.

We were exposed. The dark lapped against us like surf on the beach.

I was referring to your commitment to perfection. The problem is, if you don’t mind me saying . . .” He looked away. “Be my annoying guest.” “Is that perfection makes losing really difficult to deal with.

I got reason to believe that the Mexican feller, as you called him, and his compadres are growing the largest crop of marihuana Texas has ever seen, maybe the only crop, and I plan on stopping them.” “Marihuana? You mean that stuff the Mexicans roll into cigarettes?” “Exactly.” “No offense,” Lickter lifted his hat to wipe his brow, “but with everything going on in the borderlands, why the hell are the rangers fussing over a plant that never harmed no one? There ain’t no law against marihuana.

Would you like to join us, McCutchen? If I remember correctly, you favor a good steak? Bravo’s has the best, and there’s a decent chance nobody’ll shoot at us.

Is that where you’re going to sleep?” Muddy indicated Chancho’s saddle. “Sure. Good a spot as any to be blessed with my presence. Maybe I’ll even use a rock as a pillow and have visions of angels climbing back and forth on a ladder from heaven.” “Catholics are crazy.” Nena lowered the tailgate to the chuck wagon. “Besides, don’t angels have wings? Why would they need a ladder?” Chancho scratched his chin. “You know, that’s a good question. I’ll have to ask Jacob when I see him.

I tried to shake off my paranoia. But for weeks I’d been stirring it into my morning coffee.

My truck still functioned, but would no doubt attract police like fat Southerners to a Waffle House.

Bravo’s did indeed serve a quality steak, without need of adulteration with sauce. The blood, the heat, the salt rub applied just before the flames charred the surface to lock in its flavor—this one thing done right redeemed a week’s worth of wrong. Daisy’s advances seemed clumsy in comparison to the grace McCutchen found in his ribeye.

Why does everyone want to kill us?” Evie spoke into the dirt. I stood, double-checking our immediate surroundings. “To be fair, there have been fewer than fifty people who’ve tried to kill us in the last month. That’s hardly everyone.

If there was a god, a capital ‘g’ god, I wondered if he was paying attention. Did he monitor the universe like a security guard stationed at a bank of screens with a book and a cup of coffee? Or did he feel every ripple like it was a part of him? Did he grieve? Or were emotions an evolutionary gimmick, a cruel sleight of hand we humans played on ourselves?

Even if it were possible that life without emotion could be more authentic, who would care if caring itself was a false construct? My life’s work had been dedicated to extending life, but nothing within my power could make that life worth living.

I occupied myself by watching my daughter sleep, the act of which impressed two things upon me. First, she possessed the ability to trust a madman we’d just met well enough to sleep. Second, I loved her for it. Why should she have to suffer like the rest of us?

We’d made so many aborted attempts Doc had already earned the nickname Snipe Hunt.

The old man attempted to kill me with his bushy, gray eyebrows.

His thoughts were haunted by flames—first the field of marihuana, then the bonfire, then the old woman’s house. The cackling faces of the vaqueros possessed by the narcotic, the silhouette of the girl slumping dead in a sliver of moonlight, the old woman eviscerated for helping him—all of it consumed by the haunting flames.

Damn cars will never be much count verses a man on a good horse.

He is crazy, you know that.” Nena relaxed, leaning against a log. “Yes. I knew that the moment I realized he was a friend.” “Why? Because someone has to be crazy to like you?” Muddy stirred the beans with his back to Nena. “You said it.” She thumped him with a dirt clod. “Hey, you’ll get dirt in the beans.” “Like there isn’t dirt in the beans already.” Muddy mocked offense, “There’s never dirt in my beans. Mealy worms, maybe.

Prohibition was a damned travesty cooked up by spineless goodie-goodies like his own father, too incapacitated by their own self-righteousness to scourge the world of evil with blood and sweat. Instead they depended on lilly-livered pastors and politicians to do the job for them.

Times like these reminded me of how easily religion could deform mysticism into manipulation.

With gunrunning, goat rustling and general banditry driving reprisal killings to an all-time high, the general mood was such that Anglos hated Mexicans, Mexicans hated Anglos, and just to make things worse, a handful of old Tejanos resented both.

Pepito, sometimes when bad people do bad things, good people must do good things.

revolution could still be possible through sacrifice rather than force. The dreamer’s very soul births a dream, his energy nourishes it, his life’s blood brings it to blossom. Jesus had summarized it brilliantly, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

My father and grandfather believed in loyalty above all else. But not loyalty to country. Rather loyalty to doing what’s right, even if impossible.” We shared a smile over the similarities between our fathers. “Nothing like taking up the torch of the foolishly perfect.

You and my father have more in common than you think.” “Really? I hope you’re not calling me an imprudent adrenaline flunky with an irrational fetish for lab coats.

My father and I had both underestimated humanity’s appetite for destruction—the basic human willingness to allow harm to befall others for selfish gain.

It had begun to feel odd being in the all together, and the lab coat had only made me feel like a wrinkly old pervert.

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