And finally Winter, with its bitin', and whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

You can't tell how good a man or a watermelon is 'til they get thumped.

Time will pass and seasons will come and go.

Don't interfere with something that ain't bothering' you none.

A decent cowboy does not take what belongs to someone else and if he does he deserves to be strung up and left for the flies and coyotes

Spring with its wavin' green grass and heaps of sweet-smellin' flowers on every hill and in every dale.

I find this corpse guilty of carrying a concealed weapon and I fine it $40.

Hang 'em first, try 'em later.

And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

And Fall, with her yeller harvest moon and the hills growin' brown and golden under a sinkin' sun.

Virtually everyone needs motivation of some sort, but when you are in love - that is motivation enough, it turns many into poets and painters, it spurs the creativity in you.

Truth has the biggest mouth in the universe, wisdom has the largest ears, love has the strongest hands, and faith has the ablest feet.

In the end that was the choice you made, and it doesn't matter how hard it was to make it. It matters that you did.

I've never seen such a bunch of apple-eaters.

We use to think that we’ll go to Heaven if we avoid sins or have our pastor remove them. To labor ourselves into paradise is a new and somewhat discouraging perspective.

Most people aren't unsuccessful in life because they don't know what to do. They are unsuccessful because they don't DO what they know how to do. Knowledge is power IF...you use it.

The wise man is astonished by anything.

Politicians have to make unpopular decisions. Schwarzenegger is going to understand the nature of his job. I wish him good luck, he's going to need it. It's going to be difficult for him.

Ive never thought of my characters as being sad. On the contrary, they are full of life. They didnt choose tragedy. Tragedy chose them.

The simple point is that literature belongs to the world man constructs, not to the world he sees; to his home, not his environment.