From throughout Blood Meridian; favorite passages of mine
. . . So many gone, defected or dead. The Delawares all slain. He watched the fire and if he saw portents there it was much the same to him. He would live to look upon the Western sea and he was equal to whatever might follow for he was complete at every hour. Whether his history should run concomitant with men and nations, whether it should cease. He'd long forsworn all thinking of consequence and allowing as he did that men's destinies are given yet he usurped to contain within him all that he would ever be in the world and all that the world would be to him and be the charter written in the urstone itself he claimed agency and said so and he'd drive the remoseless sun on to its final endarkment as if he'd ordered it all ages since, before there were paths anywhere, before there were men or suns to go upon them. . .
. . . The bones of cholla that glowed there in their incandescent basketry pulsed like burning holothurians in the phosphorus dark of the sea. The idiot in his cage had been drawn close to the fire and watched it tirelessly.
. . . He Cited cases civil and martial. He quoted Coke and the Blackstone, Anaxamander, Thales. . . .
. . . running about on the ground with a peculiar bandylegged trot like creatures driven to alien forms of locomotion . . .
. . . The survivors lay quietly in that cratered void and watched the whitehot stars go rifling down the dark. Or slept with their alien hearts beating in the sand like pilgrims exhausted upon the face of the planet Anareta, clutched to a namelessness wheeling in the night. . .
. . . They moved on and the stars jostled and arced across the firmament and died beyond the inkblack mountains. They came to know the nightskies well. Western eyes that read more geometric constructions than those names given by the ancients. . . .
. . . . and when the company turned in to sleep and the low fire was roaring in the blast like a thing alive these four yet crouched at the edge of the firelight among their strange chattels and watched how the ragged flames fled down the wind as if sucked by some maelstrom out there in the void, some vortex in that waste apposite to which man’s transit and his reckonings alike lay abrogate. As if beyond will or fate he and his beasts and his trappings moved both in card and in substance under consignment to some third and other destiny. . .
. . . The jagged mountains were pure blue in the dawn and everywhere birds twittered and the sun when it rose caught the moon in the west so that they lay opposed to each other across the earth, the sun whitehot and the moon a pale replica, as if they were the ends of a common bore beyond whose terminals burned worlds past all reckoning. As the riders came up through the mesquite and pyracantha single file in a light clank of arms and chink of bitrings the sun climbed and the moon set and the horses and the dewsoaked mules commenced to steam in flesh and in shadow. . . .