“Five wagons smouldered on the desert floor and the riders dismounted and moved along the bodies of the dead argonauts in silence, those right pilgrims nameless amongst the stones with their terrible wounds, the viscera spilled from their sides and the naked torsos bristling with arrowshafts. Some by their beards were men but wore strange menstrual wounds between their legs and no man’s parts for these had been cut away and hung dark and strange from their grinning mouths. In their wigs of dried blood they lay gazing up with ape’s eyes at brother sun now rising in the east.”
Picador, 2010 (publicado originalmente en 1985)
“I had hated these ponies for the part they played in my father’s death but now I realized the notion was fanciful, that it was wrong to charge blame for these pretty beasts who knew neither good nor evil but only innocence. I say that of these ponies. I have known some horses and a good many more pigs who I believed harbored evil intent in their hearts. I will go further and say all cats are wicked, though often useful. Who has not seen Satan in their sly faces? Some preachers say, well, that is superstitious “claptrap”. My answer is this: Preacher, go to your Bible and read Luke 8. 26-33.”
Overlook Press, 2013 (publicado originalmente en 1968). Prólogo de Donna Tartt.
“But as the pain from his body increased, his mind seemed to detach itself from the pain, to rise above it, so that he could see himself and Miller more clearly than he had before. During the last hour of the stand he came to see Miller as a mechanism, an automaton, moved by the moving herd; and he came to see Miller’s destruction of the buffalo, not as a lust for blood or a lust for the hides or a lust for what the hides would bring, or even the blind lust of fury that toiled darkly within him -he came to see that destruction as a cold, mindless response to the life in which Miller had immersed himself. And he looked upon himself crawling dumbly after Miller upon the flat bed of the valley, picking up the empty cartridges that he spent, tugging the water keg, husbanding the rifle, cleaning it, offering it to Miller when he needed it -he looked upon himself, and did not know who he was, or where he went.
Miller’s rifle cracked; a young cow, hardly more than a calf, stumbled, got to its feet, and ran erratically out of the circling herd.
‘Damn it,’ Miller said without emotion. ‘A leg shot. That will do it’.”
Vintage Classics 2014 (publicado originalmente en 1971)