I regret having trifled with married women. I'm fairly ashamed of having cheated at cards. I deplore my occasional departures from the truth. Forgive me for taking your Name in vain, my Saturday drunkenness, my Sunday sloth. Above all, forgive me for the men I've killed in anger and for those I am about to.
You're staring at me, children. I feel your eyes on my back. Now why is that?
This may seem a lonesome place to leave him, but he is not alone because many of his kind rest here with him. The prairie was like a mother to Mr. Andersen. He belonged to her. She cared for him while he lived and she is nursing him while he sleeps.
I like to travel with a man I'm used to. –You'll get used to me.
Now I don't hold jail against you, but I hate a liar.
You're a pretty independent character, aren't you?
Son-of-a-bitch. –What did you say? –You god-damned son-of-a-bitch! –Say that again. –You god-damned, mean, son-of-a-bitch! –Say it faster. –You god-damned, mean, dirty, son-of-a-bitch! –I wouldn't make it a habit of calling me that, son.
Boys are always guilty of something nasty. What could it be this time, I wonder?
Well, it looks like it's going to be another fine day.