all the delusions

My favorite sentences from A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean:

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The canyon was glorified by rhythms and colors.

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My brother’s wet shirt made it easy to see his strength.

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Rhythm was just as important as color and just as complicated.

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His wet shirt bulged and came unbuttoned with his pivoting shoulder and hips.

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Ranchers holding their intestines in their hands would ride in from the back country looking for “the RN” to sew them together again.

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I was glad I didn’t have to drive — I had too many other things to feel about.

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Large drops of water ran from under his hat on to his face and then into his lips when he smiled.

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He was beautiful. 

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Together we drove across the Continental Divide and down the length of the Big Blackfoot River over forest floors yellow and sometimes white with glacier lilies to tell my father and mother that my brother had been beaten to death by the butt of a revolver and his body dumped in an alley.

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I am haunted by waters.

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“Let’s have another drink,” he said to all the delusions.