Tucson Quotes

In my own worst seasons I've come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single glorious thing: a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window. And then another: my daughter in a yellow dress. And another: the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon. Until I learned to be in love with my life again. Like a stroke victim retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy, over and over again(15).

I want you to go back to Tucson and bring me the bottle of tequila I keep in my liquor cabinet. And don't scare Tim." Volusian remained motionless in that way of his. "My mistress grows increasingly creative in her ways to torment me." "I thought you'd appreciate it." "Only in so much as it inspires me to equally creative means to rip you apart when I am able to break free of these bonds and finally destroy you." "You see? There's a silver lining to everything. Now hurry up.

Every one of us is called upon, perhaps many times, to start a new life. A frightening diagnosis, a marriage, a move, loss of a job...And onward full-tilt we go, pitched and wrecked and absurdly resolute, driven in spite of everything to make good on a new shore. To be hopeful, to embrace one possibility after another--that is surely the basic instinct...Crying out: High tide! Time to move out into the glorious debris. Time to take this life for what it is.

Be careful what you give children, for sooner or later you are sure to get it back.

If you ask me, when something extraordinary shows up in your life in the middle of the night, you give it a name and make it the best home you can.

Art is the antidote that can call us back from the edge of numbness, restoring the ability to feel for another.

Thieves? A twinge of panic shot through her. Dabbing at the fever-induced perspiration beading across her forehead, she wondered vaguely why the air conditioning wasn't blowing full-force on this hot September afternoon. Then she realized it was.

I don't expect to see perfection before I die. Lord, if I did I would have stuck my head in the oven back in Tucson, after hearing the stories of some of those refugees. What keeps you going isn't some fine destination but just the road you're on, and the fact that you know how to drive. You keep your eyes open, you see this damned-to-hell world you got born into, and you ask yourself, "What life can I live that will let me breathe in & out and love somebody or something and not run off screaming into the woods?

Want is a thing that unfurls unbidden like fungus, opening large upon itself, stopless, filling the sky. But needs, from one day to the next, are few enough to fit in a bucket, with room enough left to rattle like brittle brush in a dry wind.

High fashion has the shelf life of potato salad. And when past its prime, it is similarly deadly.

His dark eyes were on the road ahead, thoughtful. “No. I was hoping to go back to Tucson and see if I could get this hot chick I know to go out with me. I hear she’s in demand, though. She keeps putting me off each time I try to plan something romantic.” “Yeah, well, maybe if you come up with a good itinerary, you could lure her out.” “I was thinking dinner at Joe’s.” I made a face. “If that’s the case, maybe you’d better brace yourself for rejection.” “Red Pepper Bistro?” “Okay. Now you’re in the zone.” “Followed by a long massage in the sauna.” “That’s pretty good too.” “And then indecent things in the sauna.” “I hope you mean you’ll be doing the indecent things—because I more than did my share last night.” Kiyo glanced over at me with a mischievous grin. “Who says I’m talking about you?

When something extraordinary shows up in your life in the middle of the night, you give it a name and make it the best home you can.

I hold on to my adopted shore, chanting private vows: wherever I am, let me never forget to distinguish want from need. Let me be a good animal today. Let me dance in the waves of my private tide, the habits of survival and love.

In Socorro, he began wrapping his chest in a white bandage, and by Las Cruces, he’d learned to walk again, legs wide, shoulders square. He told himself that it was safer to hitchhike this way, but the truth was that he’d always been Reese. By Tucson, it was Therese who felt like a costume. How real was a person if you could shed her in a thousand miles?

Reason leavened with a little wit (if possible) is the real alternative to hate speech, meaning that there's no better time for it.

It feels strange to me to be living in a box, hiding from the steadying influence of the moon; wearing the hide of a cow, which is supposed to be dyed to match God-knows-what, on my feet; making promises over the telephone about things I will do at a precise hour next year.

Even viewed conservatively, trees are worth far more than they cost to plant and maintain. The U.S. Forest Service's Center for Urban Forest Research found a ten-degree difference between the cool of a shaded park in Tucson and the open Sonoran desert. A tree planted in the right place, the center estimates, reduces the demand for air conditioning and can save 100 kilowatt hours in annual electrical use, about 2 to 8 percent of total use. Strategically planted trees can also shelter homes from wind, and in cold weather they can reduce heating fuel costs by 10 to 12 percent. A million strategically planted trees, the center figures, can save $10 million in energy costs. And trees increase property values, as much as 1 percent for each mature tree. These savings are offset somewhat by the cost of planting and maintaining trees, but on balance, if we had to pay for the services that trees provide, we couldn't afford them. Because trees offer their services in silence, and for free, we take them for granted.

If humanity survives long enough to understand what he really was, they can dig him up and put on display the grandiose depravity of the twentieth century.

Participants in the massacre were later tried in Tucson and acquitted. To murder an Indian was considered no crime.

Turns out, while all light pollution is bad for astrophysics, the low-pressure sodium lamps are least bad because their contamination can be easily subtracted from telescope data. In a model of cooperation, the entire city of Tucson, Arizona, the nearest large municipality to the Kitt Peak National Observatory, has, by agreement with the local astrophysicists, converted all its streetlights to low-pressure sodium lamps.

It was a modest, out-of-the-way place in downtown Tucson, the only shrine in America dedicated to the soul of a sinner, reported the historical plaque there. [...] He went there because that was the one holy place that didn't compel him to change into someone else in order to welcome him.

Seymour looked around the Tucson McDonald's. There were white people and Mavajos; there were people who preferred their Quarter Pounders with cheese and those who didn't care for cheese at all; and there were those who desperately wish that McDonald's would introduce onion rings to its menu.

...people outdoors here just scuttle in vectors from air conditioning to air conditioning. The sun is a hammer. I can feel one side of my face start to cook. The blue sky is glossy and fat with heat, a few thin cirri sheared to blown strands like hair at the rims.

The part of my soul that is driven to make stories is a fierce thing, like a ferret: long, sleek, incapable of sleep, it digs and bites through all I know of the world.

By Tucson, it was Therese who felt like a costume. How real was a person if you could shed her in a thousand miles?

In March 2020, the City of Tucson went into COVID-19 lockdown.

Hope it an unbearably precious thing, worth its weight in feathers. If that's too much to think about, best to tuck it in a pocket anyway, and make it a habit.

Queers doing cowboy dancing. Who would’ve thunk it? Kids who grew up in Galveston and Tucson and Modesto, performing the folk dances of their homeland finally, finally with the partner of their choice.

At the age of 45, most days in Tucson were spent feeling like I was on the summit of Mauna Kea, as I was exhibiting debilitating health symptoms that corresponded to what I saw at very high altitude. I was later to find that I had erratic low blood oxygen levels after almost a decade of high altitude work.

It was difficult being so far away from everything she loved. But here, she had Edward and Alice and her work. And now it seems she might have a cowboy to follow around. “A cowboy? I'm a city girl… What will I do with a cowboy?” Then her thoughts drifted back to the cowboy who sauntered in like he owned Tucson.

counter drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. A few of them looked up as I walked in. I took a deep breath. “Could I have y’all’s attention, please?” I said loudly. “My little girl and I are trying to get down to Tucson to pick up my dying dad. But we’re running shy of gas, and if a few of you fellows would be kind enough to

We live in a society where interacting with government agents is a potentially hazardous activity

You can fool history sometimes, but you can’t fool the memory of your intimates.

I knew exactly what I should have said: Be careful what you give children, for sooner or later you are sure to get it back.

When asked what profession they like least, most people will give the obvious answer: clowns.

The toughest part about riding a horse is overcoming the urge to eat it.

But I feel like old-people love is the goal. Anyone can love for a few years. Loving someone for a lifetime is something else entirely.

It’s like you were made for me.

It only we could recover faith in a seed - and in all the other complicated marvels that can't fit in a sound bite. Then we humans might truly know the glory of knowing our place.

You see, when a tragedy like this strikes, it is part of our nature to demand explanations - to try to impose some order on the chaos, and make sense out of that which seems senseless.

Faith, by definition, is impervious to fact. A belief that can be changed by new information was probably a scientific one, not a religious one, and science derives its value from its openness to revision.

The truth was that lately, she had not had quite enough happening in her life. She and her husband had moved this past fall to a golfing community outside of Tucson. (Peter was passionate about golf. Willa didn’t even know how to play.) She had had to leave behind an ESL teaching job that she loved, and she was hoping to find another one, but she hadn’t exactly looked into that yet. She seemed to be sort of paralyzed,

Want is a thing that unfurls unbidden like fungus, opening large upon itself, stopless, filling the sky. But needs, from one day to the next, are few enough to fit in a bucket, with room enough left to rattle like brittlebush in a dry wind.

Hallie didn't believe she was invulnerable. She was never one of those daredevil types; she knew she could get hurt. What I think she meant was that she was lucky to be on her way to Nicaragua. It was the slowest thing to sink into my head, how happy she was. Happy to be leaving. We'd had one time of perfect togetherness in our adult lives, the year when we were both in college in Tucson-her first year, my last-and living together for the first time away from Doc Homer. That winter I'd wanted to fail a subject just so I could hang back, stay there with her, the two of us walking around the drafty house in sweatshirts and wool socks and understanding each other precisely. Bringing each other cups of tea without having to ask. So I stayed on in Tucson for medical school, instead of going to Boston as I'd planned, and met Carlo in Parasitology. Hallie, around the same time, befriended some people who ran a safehouse for Central American refugees. After that we'd have strangers in our kitchen every time of night, kids scared senseless, people with all kinds of damage. Our life was never again idyllic. I should have seen it coming. Once she and I had gone to see a documentary on the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, which was these Americans who volunteered without our government's blessing to fight against Franco and Hitler in the Spanish Civil War. At that point in U.S. history fascism was only maybe wrong, whereas communism was definitely. When we came home from the movie Hallie cried. Not because of the people who gave up life and limb only to lose Spain to Franco, and not for the ones who came back and were harassed for the rest of their lives for being Reds. The tragedy for Hallie was that there might never be a cause worth risking everything for in our lifetime. She was nineteen years old then, and as she lay blowing her nose and sobbing on my bed she told me this. That there were no real causes left. Now she had one-she was off to Nicaragua, a revolution of co-op farms and literacy crusades-and so I guess she was lucky. Few people know so clearly what they want. Most people can't even think what to hope for when they throw a penny in a fountain. Almost no one really gets the chance to alter the course of human events on purpose, in the exact way they wish for it to be altered.

Teenagers without strong family ties can become so dependent on their peer group that they will do anything to be accepted by it. About twenty years ago in Tucson, Arizona, the entire senior class of a large high school knew for several months that an older dropout from the school, who had kept up a “friendship” with the younger students, had been killing their classmates, and burying their corpses in the desert. Yet none of them reported the crimes to the authorities, who discovered them by chance. The students, all nice middle-class suburban kids, claimed that they could not divulge the murders for fear of being cut by their friends.

All this fantastic effort—giant machines, road networks, strip mines, conveyor belt, pipelines, slurry lines, loading towers, railway and electric train, hundred-million-dollar coal-burning power plant; ten thousand miles of high-tension towers and high-voltage power lines; the devastation of the landscape, the destruction of Indian homes and Indian grazing lands, Indian shrines and Indian burial grounds; the poisoning of the last big clean-air reservoir in the forty-eight contiguous United States, the exhaustion of precious water supplies—all that ball-breaking labor and all that backbreaking expense and all that heartbreaking insult to land and sky and human heart, for what? All that for what? Why, to light the lamps of Phoenix suburbs not yet built, to run the air conditioners of San Diego and Los Angeles, to illuminate shopping-center parking lots at two in the morning, to power aluminum plants, magnesium plants, vinyl-chloride factories and copper smelters, to charge the neon tubing that makes the meaning (all the meaning there is) of Las Vegas, Albuquerque, Tucson, Salt Lake City, the amalgamated metropoli of southern California, to keep alive that phosphorescent putrefying glory (all the glory there is left) called Down Town, Night Time, Wonderville, U.S.A. They

We can’t tolerate this anymore. These tragedies must end. And to end them, we must change. We will be told that the causes of such violence are complex, and that is true. No single law, no set of laws can eliminate evil from the world, or prevent every senseless act of violence in our society. But that can’t be an excuse for inaction. Surely, we can do better than this. If there is even one step we can take to save another child, or another parent, or another town, from the grief that has visited Tucson, and Aurora, and Oak Creek, and Newtown, and communities from Columbine to Blacksburg before that—then surely we have an obligation to try. He

Dr. W. B. Clarke's research into the problems of childhood vaccines, came across the evidence that all vaccines given over a short period of time to an immature immune system deplete the thymus gland, (the primary gland of the immune reactions) of irreplaceable immature immune cells. Each of these cells could have multiplied and developed into an army of valuable cells to combat infection and growth of abnormal cells. When these cells are used up permanent immunity may not appear. Work at the Arthur Research Foundation in Tucson, Arizona estimates that up to 60% of our immune system may be exhausted by multiple mass vaccinations. With naturally acquired immunity, only 10% of immune cells are lost. This constitutes a grave concern for vaccinations ruining the immune system

I am like God, Codi? Like GOD? Give me a break. If I get another letter that mentions SAVING THE WORLD, I am sending you, by return mail, a letter bomb. Codi, please. I've got things to do. You say you're not a moral person. What a copout. Sometime, when I wasn't looking, something happened to make you think you were bad. What, did Miss Colder give you a bad mark on your report card? You think you're no good, so you can't do good things. Jesus, Codi, how long are you going to keep limping around on that crutch? It's the other way around, it's what you do that makes you who you are. I'm sorry to be blunt. I've had a bad week. I am trying to explain, and I wish you were here so I could tell you this right now, I am trying to explain to you that I'm not here to save anybody or any thing. It's not some perfect ideal we're working toward that keeps us going. You ask, what if we lose this war? Well, we could. By invasion, or even in the next election. People are very tired. I don't expect to see perfection before I die. Lord, if I did I would have stuck my head in the oven back in Tucson, after hearing the stories of some of those refugees. What keeps you going isn't some fine destination but just the road you're on, and the fact that you know how to drive. You keep your eyes open, you see this damned-to-hell world you got born into, and you ask yourself, "What life can I live that will let me breathe in & out and love somebody or something and not run off screaming into the woods?" I didn't look down from some high rock and choose cotton fields in Nicaragua. These cotton fields chose me. The contras that were through here yesterday got sent to a prison farm where they'll plant vegetables, learn to read and write if they don't know how, learn to repair CB radios, and get a week-long vacation with their families every year. They'll probably get amnesty in five. There's hardly ever a repeat offender. That kid from San Manuel died. Your sister, Hallie "What's new with Hallie?" Loyd asked. "Nothing." I folded the pages back into the envelope as neatly as I could, trying to leave its creases undisturbed, but my fingers had gone numb and blind. With tears in my eyes I watched whatever lay to the south of us, the land we were driving down into, but I have no memory of it. I was getting a dim comprehension of the difference between Hallie and me. It wasn't a matter of courage or dreams, but something a whole lot simpler. A pilot would call it ground orientation. I'd spent a long time circling above the clouds, looking for life, while Hallie was living it.

Don Pardo, the "Saturday Night Live" announcer whose career spanned the history of television and who made memorable appearances in sketches and music videos that played on the booming cadence of his voice for laughs, died Aug. 18 at his home in Tucson. He was 96.

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Arizona and Tucson, to Wyn’s way of thinking, sort of embodied the changing nature of the country in recent years as it had grown. Traders and explorers such as Kit Carson, Pauline Weaver and Bill Williams had wandered through Arizona in the early part of the century. New Mexico, which had included all of Arizona north of the Gila, had been ceded to the United States in ’48, at the bitter end of the Mexican War, with the treaty of Guadalupe Hildago. One of the articles of the treaty, however, made the United States responsible for preventing Apache raids into northern Mexico. The raids had increased after the treaty was signed, keeping tensions high.

Probably just someone on their way into Tucson, like us. We’d better check it out, though.” The Southerner pulled his Winchester 73 from its sheath and laid it across his waist in the saddle. He’d killed a few men when he’d had to. There was always the possibility that a brother, son, or friend would seek retribution, even though the fights had been fair, the gunplay defensive, their fate deserved. He’d also riled a few lazy, drunk, or dishonest men who’d worked under him at various ranches by giving them their pay and telling them to move on. The Southerner knew that distance and the passage of time were irrelevant where vengeance was concerned. The man who’d sent the telegram asking for his help was proof of that.

MY MOTHER assures me that it happens to everyone, sooner or later, for reasons more or less identifiable; everyone loses a best friend at some point. Not in the “she moved to Tucson” sense, but in the sense that “we grew apart.

By March 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic had arrived in Tucson. It was well known by this point that it was very infectious and in some cases, fatal. A virus that could cause pneumonia to occur in both lungs that required a lung ventilator to treat it and they were in very short supply.

I lived in Tucson for fifteen years and was sickly the entire time!

It was just bizarre how the dysfunctional medical system was working in Tucson!

that’s where Fredric Brown spent his later years.” “Fredric Brown? Our Fredric Brown?” “We were on the bus together.” “You and Fredric Brown.” “Right.” “On a bus in Tucson.” “When he was trying to work out a plot,” I said, “he would ride buses all night, and thoughts would come to him.” “I’ll bet they would. ‘Why am I up so late? What am I doing on this broken-down rattletrap?

I am allergic to the altitude of Tucson, Arizona, USA.

My allergies completely disappeared after moving to Hawaii. I had suspected Tucson was causing them, as much of the pollen is coming from cactus, which I know I have no genetic adaptation to. Numerous people report the development of seasonal allergies when they start living in Tucson. It is a known aspect of living there for many.

David Lipan, a skilled server and bartender, developed his expertise while residing in Arizona. Beginning his journey in Tucson, he embraced the art of serving and bartending, paving the way for a successful career. Currently working as a server at a renowned steakhouse, David appreciates the dynamic nature of his role and the opportunities it brings to meet fascinating individuals.

Welcome to Nadines Bakery, where baking traditions come to life. Since 1982, our family-owned institution in Tucson, Arizona, has delighted customers with exquisite cakes, pastries, and pies crafted with love and expertise. Phone: (+1) 520-326-0735 Address: 4553 E Broadway Blvd, Tucson, AZ 85711, United States Website: nadines-bakery.com

Alison Gopnik and Robin Carhart-Harris come at the problem of consciousness from what seem like completely different directions and disciplines, but soon after they learned of each other’s work (I had e-mailed a PDF of Robin’s entropy paper to Alison and told him about her superb book, The Philosophical Baby), they struck up a conversation that has proven to be remarkably illuminating, at least for me. In April 2016, their conversation wound up on a stage at a conference on consciousness in Tucson, Arizona, where the two met for the first time and shared a panel.

It's easy to feel small when looking up at the constellations. That night in Arizona, while standing alone in a massive field of cacti under a field of stars, I certainly thought of my own insignificance in the universe. But I also thought about how my view of the Milky Way that night came courtesy of an entire city working together. And that knowledge made me feel big. Tucson hadn't just found a way to show off the stars - it had sown that seemingly inconsequential actions, done by enough people, can make an enormous difference.

Because I'm fucking attracted to you!" he snapped. "Is that what you want to hear? Do I need to spell it out to you? I can't explain it, but I want to make sure you're safe. I need to make sure you're safe.

My name is Levi Sharpe. I'm a businessman and a biker,

Tucson,

If you don’t make a move on Lark, I’m going to hook you two up. Don’t make me stoop to that shit, man. Bad enough I’m helping Tucker find a decent fuck for Bailey. I really don’t need to play matchmaker with you too.” “I’ve got it handled.” Cooper smirked. “Lark’s coming to your shop to get a tat fixed. You’re welcome for that.” “What?” I muttered, frowning even if this idea interested me. “She’s got a lame worm tat and needs it fixed. She works at that Denny’s and can’t afford it, so I said I would pay. I like paying for chicks to get nice tats. Makes me feel charitable.” “It’s a worm?” I asked, wondering why Lark would have a fucking worm tattoo. “Looks like one. I think it was supposed to be a butterfly. I can’t remember. Farah got all territorial and I about jizzed my pants.” “Too much fucking info, man,” I said, emphasizing each word. “Whatever. Just make sure you look your best when she shows up. I don’t want you scaring her away. She’s cute and available and I don’t want Vaughn messing with Lark. He’s trouble and will eat her alive.” Even though I said nothing, Cooper started laughing. “You’re jealous.” Exhaling hard, I flipped him off again, but he just kept laughing. “Yeah, well, you better get that girl or I might set her up with someone from the club. Judd still gets weird around Mac. Need to get him a woman so Judd won’t kill him on accident one day,” Cooper said, air quoting “accident.” Leaning back, I doodled on my napkin until I realized I was drawing Lark again. Cooper didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy frowning at his phone. “Problem?” “More shit from the Devils. They’re pushing and we’ll need to push back. Might need to call someone in to go to Tucson to handle the problem at the top.” “Someone?” “Don’t you worry. Business shit.” “Now, you’re secretive. Where was this when you were talking about jazzing your pants.

something turns up.

Bathtubs were rare in the Wild West. In 1871, Tucson, Arizona boasted 3,000 people, a newspaper, a brewery, two doctors, several saloons—but just one bathtub. Pee-ew!

Lucas had guessed correctly that there was no danger of anyone hijacking a flight from Oakland to Tucson International, anyway. That would take a real nut.

Angie Dickinson has often spoken of her admiration for Brennan, and did so again for this biography: Brennan and I had no scenes together, and therefore rarely crossed paths. On a big set like that, if you don’t work, you don’t just come around and “hang out.” Either for me or for WB. One day we were on the set together in Tucson, and we had a lovely brief chat, and he was so very dear, gentle and calm. But we made no other contact. I can only say that he was a sweet man, and he was brilliant in Rio Bravo, as in everything he did. He was a true ACTOR. And by the way, I regret I did nothing to promote a friendship. . . . However, I think he was a very private man, and one just didn’t do that to a legend like WB. It was so like Brennan to be utterly accessible on a set, but also to draw a sharp distinction between work and his personal life.

Years ago, I earned a pilot’s license. Right after my check ride an old pilot named Roy came up to me and congratulated me. Roy has tens of thousands of hours in the sky and in 2004 he was inducted into the hall of fame at the Pima Air & Space Museum in Tucson, Arizona. He is literally a living legend, so his words bear a certain weight. He said one thing that has stuck with me: “Now you have a license to learn.

Whatever misgivings Cooper had about entering the ring with Brennan, he also realized that Walter was too good an actor and had too refined a sense of ensemble acting to do anything other than make Cooper look good. It was all good, as a matter of fact. Wyler was able to shoot the film on location in Tucson, Arizona, benefitting from Goldwyn’s million-dollar budget, which allowed for the construction of a replica of the opera house that Lilly Langtry appeared in. For Wyler, Brennan, and Cooper what mattered was the work.

saw a tall shadow and let the horses go. “That you, Luke?

we went on record as half-bad musicians having wholehearted lives.

Twelve years ago I left Boston and New York, and moved east and west at the same time. East, to a little village in Devon, England, a town I’ve been familiar with for years, since my friends Brian and Wendy Froud and Alan Lee all live there. It had long been my dream to live in England, so I finally bought a little old cottage over there. But I decided, both for visa and health reasons, living there half the year would be better than trying to cope with cold, wet Dartmoor winters. At that point, Beth Meacham had moved out to Arizona, and I discovered how wonderful the Southwest is, particularly in the wintertime. Now I spend every winter-spring in Tucson and every summer-autumn in England. Both places strongly affect my writing and my painting. They’re very opposite landscapes, and each has a very different mythic history. In Tucson, the population is a mix of Native Americans, Mexican Americans, and Euro-Americans of various immigrant backgrounds — so the folklore of the place is a mix of all those things, as well as the music and the architecture. The desert has its own colors, light, and rhythms. In Devon, by contrast, it’s all Celtic and green and leafy, and the color palette of the place comes straight out of old English paintings — which is more familiar to me, growing up loving the Pre-Raphaelites and England’s ‘Golden Age’ illustrators. I’ve learned to love an entirely different palette in Arizona, where the starkness of the desert is offset by the brilliance of the light, the cactus in bloom, and the wild colors of Mexican decor.

And to say that the citizens of those rival domains did not always see eye to eye was a bit of an understatement, because each represented the antithesis of the other’s deepest values. To the engineers and the technicians who belonged to the world of the dam, Glen was no dead monolith but, rather, a living and breathing thing, a creature that pulsed with energy and dynamism. Perhaps even more important, the dam was also a triumphant capstone of human ingenuity, the culmination of a civil-engineering lineage that had seen its first florescence in the irrigation canals of ancient Mesopotamia and China, then shot like a bold arrow through the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and the Industrial Revolution to reach its zenith here in the sun-scorched wastelands of the American Southwest. Glen embodied the glittering inspiration and the tenacious drive of the American century—a spirit that in other contexts had been responsible for harnessing the atom and putting men on the moon. As impressive as those other accomplishments may have been, nothing excelled the nobility of transforming one of the harshest deserts on earth into a vibrant garden. In the minds of its engineers and its managers, Glen affirmed everything that was right about America. To Kenton Grua and the river folk who inhabited the world of the canyon, however, the dam was an offense against nature. Thanks to Glen and a host of similar Reclamation projects along the Colorado, one of the greatest rivers in the West, had been reduced to little more than a giant plumbing system, a network of pipes and faucets and catchment tubs whose chief purpose lay in the dubious goal of bringing golf courses to Phoenix, swimming pools to Tucson, and air-conditioned shopping malls to Vegas. A magnificent waterway had been sacrificed on the altar of a technology that enabled people to prosper without limits, without balance, without any connection to the environment in which they lived—and in the process, fostered the delusion that the desert had been conquered. But in the eyes of the river folk, even that wasn’t the real cost. To

A new instrument with an evil-sounding name is helping scientists see how stars are born. L.U.C.I.F.E.R., which stands for ‘Large Binocular Telescope Near-infrared Utility with Camera and Integral Field Unit for Extragalactic Research,’ is a chilled instrument attached to a telescope in Arizona. And yes, it’s named for the Devil, whose name itself means ‘morning star’ [and which] happens to be right next to the Vatican Observatory on Mt. Graham in Tucson.” ­—Rebecca Boyle, Popular Science magazine

Brunch is such an odd thing. It was created by fat, lazy people who were too lazy to wake up at a reasonable hour and too fat to wait until the next proper time for dining.

This is why it is important never to pick or smell flowers, and to always wear headgear when admiring them.

The less one knows about meat, the more one is able to enjoy it. Meat tastes wonderful, of course, but as with the lad hawking hard-to-find wares at unbelievable prices, it’s best not to ask too many questions.

Nothing says you care like sending someone a kitten.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold. This isn’t correct. Revenge is a dish best served lukewarm or at room temperature (depending on the room) with a side of sauerkraut lightly sprinkled with pepper, a generous helping of golden brown roasted potatoes, and a large loaf of marble rye, washed down with any kind of unfiltered wheat beer. But whatever you do—and remember this, as it can be a matter of life or death—don’t put any sort of fruit in the beer. Fruit doesn’t belong in beer.

So this journey could have begun when I learned sometime in the late 1990s about Abbey’s mysterious burial. Abbey died in Tucson, Arizona, in 1989 at age sixty-two from internal bleeding. After his death, four friends transported his body to a desert. There, they illegally buried him in a grave hidden to all but his friends and family and those turkey vultures banking overhead. His friends laid a hand-chiseled basalt tombstone atop the grave. The stories tell us that the tombstone reads, “Edward Abbey. 1927–1989. No Comment.

Scream until the drug took her. 5 They started arriving after four o’clock in the afternoon. By five, Rachael’s disappearance was the lead story on all the local news stations, even in Tucson and Phoenix. When six rolled around, there were more cars parked along No-Water Lane than when the Hasslers had hosted their last Fourth of July barbecue. Come 7:15 P.M., more than forty people had crowded into Will and Rachael’s modest adobe home in Ajo.

Sometimes the thing one wants most is the very thing that will get him killed with an axe.

Really the only time men and women get along is when women want sex.

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I knew, somehow, that the city behind me was Tucson—a dream Tucson thrown up out of the collective yearning of an era. That it was real, entirely real. But the couple in front of me lived in it, and they frightened me.

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I think we’re constantly changing. No person is exactly who they were the day before. Life fluctuates, and we shift ourselves to accommodate it.

A creature with a big enough head to make a contract should have the sense to make one it can keep.

Not to mention, I had a good time watching you beat up on the locals.

Hey,” he said, turning away from Tes and back to Valla, “I’m going to sacrifice some stuff to my ancestors. Wanna watch?

I couldn't begin to imagine the life that was rolling out ahead of me. But I did understand it would pass over me with the force of a river, and that I needed to pin the water to its banks and hold it still, somehow, to give myself time to know it.

To love life, really, must mean caring not only for the garden plot but also the wilderness beyond the fence, beauty and mystery for their own sake, because of how meager a world would be without them.

The loss of empathy is also the loss of humanity, and that's no small tradeoff.

Like driving, parenting is a skill you learn by doing. You keep an eye out for oncoming disasters, and know when to stop and ask for directions. The skills you have going into it are hardly the point.