William D. Wittliff

Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness and they live by what they hear. Such people become crazy, or they become legends.

Every warrior hopes a good death will find him.

I thought Tristan would never live to be an old man. I was wrong about that. I was wrong about many things. It was those who loved him most who died young. He was a rock they broke themselves against however much he tried to protect them.

She was like the water that freezes inside a rock and breaks it apart. It was no more her fault than it is the fault of the water when the rock shatters.

Tristan died in 1963. The moon of the popping trees. He was last seen up in the North Country, where the hunting was still good. His grave is unmarked, but it does not matter. He had always lived in the borderland anyway, somewhere between this world and the Other.

It was a good death.

I followed all of the rules, man's and God's. And you, you followed none of them. And they all loved you more. Samuel, Father, and my... even my own wife.

No, he's not but I see you are here to defend him and what is his. Even though he's abandoned her and you. And I won't even speak of who else he abandoned.

Susannah, you know how much I loved Samuel. And I think you know. Out of respect for him I wanted to say it in this place. I think you know that I'm in love with you. From the first moment I saw you. Like in a novel. That's my mother's romantic imagination coming out in me, I suppose. You're not making this very easy for me, Susannah.