He thought the world’s heart beat at some terrible cost and that the world’s pain and its beauty moved in a relationship of diverging equity and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.

He rode with the sun coppering his face and the red wind blowing out of the west. He turned south along the old war trail and he rode out to the crest of a low rise and dismounted and dropped the reins and walked out and stood like a man come to the end of something.

-All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy

He really knows how to make things with words. That’s only one part of many that it takes to put out a good book, and that book is certainly a good book. I don’t know much of the many other parts it takes–I’m thinking I’d like to, though.