Jim Harrison Quotes

These were not Methodist Indians but warriors with a lineage that owed nothing to the white man. We did not live upon the same earth that they did and we flatter ourselves when we think we understand them. To pity these men is to pity the gods.

As a geezer one grows tired of the story of Sisyphus. Let that boulder stay where it is and, by its presence, exactly where it wished to be, but then I’m old enough to have forgotten what the boulder stood for? I think of all of the tons of junk the climbers have left up on Everest, including a few bodies. Even the pyramids, those imitation mountains, say to the gods, “We can do it too.” Despite planes you can’t get off the earth for long. Even the dead meat strays behind, changing shape, the words drift into the twilight across the lake. I’m not bold enough to give a poetry reading while alone far out in the desert to a gathering of saguaro and organ-pipe cactus or listen to my strophes reverberate off a mountain wall. At dawn I sat on a huge boulder near Cave Creek deep in the Chiracahuas and listened to it infer that it didn’t want to go way back up the mountain but liked it near the creek where gravity bought its passage so long ago. Everest told me to get this crap off my head or stay at home and make your own little pyramids.

The feathers on your chin mean that you ate the parakeet.

In my own lifetime I’ve seen the apotheosis of greed as a virtue, and brutal insensitivity become enlightened self interest. We may do as well as all but a few countries but that scarcely makes us a Christian nation except to those who bathe in patriotic gore out of habit and stupidity. Neither the emperor and consorts nor the citizenry is wearing the sacramental clothing it chooses to think it is wearing. A simple, private reading of the Gospels would tell them so.

Birthdays are [soul chasers,] ghost bounty hunters that track you down to ask [the usual question], “Qué pasa, baby?

resting not in peace but, as all of us will, in inevitable resignation.

To have reverence for life
you must have reverence for death.
The dogs we love are not taken from us
but leave when summoned by the gods.

When I was a stray dog in New York City in 1957, trying to eat on a buck a day while walking thousands of blocks in that human forest I thought was enchanted, not wanting to miss anything but missing everything because at nineteen dreams daily burst the brain, dismay the senses, the interior weeping drowning your steps, your mind an underground river running counter to your tentative life. “Our body is a molded river,” said wise Novalis. Bloody brain and heart, also mind and soul finally becoming a single river, flowing in a great circle, flowing from darkness to blessed darkness, still wondering above all else what kind of beast am I?

With all its eyes the creature world beholds the open, while our eyes are turned in ward,” said

Of course he wasn’t listening to what I said but to all of his imagined resonances of what I said.

ashes don't return to wood,

He did recall that the summer after graduating from college before he joined the state police he had read Shakespeare. It was the pure language that stupefied him. He would be in a diner reading A Midsummer Night's Dream and his acquaintances were confident he was studying for some test. The test turned out to be the nature of his mind. Shakespeare seemed even truer than history. Literature was against the abyss while history wallowed in it.

Take courage, the earth is all that lasts.

It didn't work to try to write about sex, doom, death, time, and the cosmos when you were thinking about a massive plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

They merged again one evening sitting on the porch swing watching fireflies and the thousands of stars above them, idly moving the swing back and forth with their feet. The night was unbearably beautiful with the constellations speaking their own strange language to each other. He told her he thought it might be the uninvented language used by Jesus and the Buddha to speak to each other.