Francisco de Goya The Parasol

Francisco de Goya The ParasolBartolome Esteban Murillo Madonna and ChildFrancisco de Zurbaran Still life
sensible, man. You were a soldier. This is a desert. You crossed a few in your time.
And you survive by learning about them. There's whole tribes that know how to live in the worst kinds of desert. if a man lived properly, not according to what any priests said, but according to what seemed decent and honest inside, then it would, at the end, more or less, turn out all right.
You couldn't get that on a banner. But the desert looked better already.
Fri'it set out.
It was a small mule and Brutha had long legs; if he'd made the effort he could have remained standing and let the mule trot out from underneath.Licking water off the shady sides of dunes, that sort of thing . . . They think it's home. Put 'em in a vegetable garden and they'd think you were mad.The memory stole over him: a desert is what you think it is. And now, you can think clearly . . .There were no lies here. All fancies fled away. That's what happened in all deserts. It was just you, and what you believed.What have I always believed?That on the whole, and by and large,