“The Indians said the bones were those of a race of people three times the size of a man.”

I had the best buffalo horse that ever made a track.

My first plan of escape having failed, I now determined upon another.

Washington newspaper men know everything.

I thought I was benefiting the Indians as well as the government, by taking them all over the United States, and giving them a correct idea of the customs, life, etc., of the pale faces, so that when they returned to their people they could make known all they had seen.

The Indians were well mounted and felt proud and elated because they had been made United States soldiers.

Wild Bill was a strange character. In person he was about six feet and one inch in height. He was a Plains-man in every sense of the word.

Indians were frequently off their reservations.

I had many enemies among the Sioux; I would be running considerable risk in meeting them.

My brother was a great favorite with everybody, and his death cast a gloom upon the whole neighborhood.

Every Indian outbreak that I have ever known has resulted from broken promises and broken treaties by the government.

My wife was delighted with the home I had given her amid the prairies of the far west.

On reaching the place where the Indians had surprised us, we found the bodies of the three men whom they had killed and scalped, and literally cut into pieces.

Quick as lightning Wild Bill pulled his revolver. The stranger fell dead, shot through the brain.

The McCarthy boys, at the proper moment, gave orders to fire upon the advancing enemy.

Major North and myself went out in advance of the command several miles and killed a number of buffaloes.

I was persuaded now that I was destined to lead a life on the Plains.

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, someone comes into your life who’ll take up a place in your heart that no one else can fill, someone who’s tighter than a twin, more with you than your own shadow, who gets deeper under your skin than your own blood and bones.

Little events, ordinary things, smashed and reconstituted. Suddenly, they become the bleached bones of a story.

I learned that the world didn’t see the inside of you, that it didn’t care a whit about the hopes and dreams, and sorrows, that lay masked by skin and bone. It was as simple, as absurd, and as cruel as that.

Your words were cold. I felt them as they crashed through my bones.

Day after day, the echoes of losing you resonate in my bones.

Yeah lets grow old together, But promise me we’ll always have youth in our bones.

December sinks in like a cold shouldered old friend. I try to stretch, reach my toes, but my own bones feel covered in snow.

There will never be a day, I am not thankful for the fire you brought to my life that still warms me to the bones.