“Jimi, a red scarf around his head and wearing a white fringed and beaded leather shirt, looked almost like a mystical holy man in meditation. His eyes closed, his head back, he'd merged with his music, his Strat--played upside down since he's a lefty--his magic wand. Though he was surrounded by his band, he projected the feeling he was all alone....Tom Law of the Hog Farm (on Jimi's rendition of the national anthem): I felt like he was the defining poet of the festival with that piece of music. It was like taking you right into the heart of the beast and nailing it.”

“Fifteen years ago, the cultural critic Greil Marcus wrote of Jimi's performance of our national anthem as "his great NO to the war, to racism, to whatever you or he might think of and want gone. But then that discord shattered, and for more than four and a half long, complex minutes Hendrix pursued each invisible crack in a vessel that had once been whole, feeling out and exploring and testing himself and his music against anguish, rage, fear, hate, love offered, and love refused. When he finished, he had created an anthem that could never be summed up and that would never come to rest. In the end it was a great YES, both a threat and a beckoning, an invitation to America to match its danger, glamour, and freedom."...In late 1969, Jimi Hendrix wrote a poem celebrating Woodstock, saying with words what his music had in August: "500,000 halos outshined the mud and history. We washed and drank in God's tears of joy. And for once, and for everyone, the truth was not still a mystery.”

“As I watch from the stage, I see more and more people wandering away. Jimi notices too, and says, “You can leave if you want to. We’re just jamming, that’s all. You can leave, or you can clap.” He looks up at the streaks of sun pouring through the clouds — some of the first rays we’ve seen in a while. “The sky church is still here, as you can see,” he murmurs.”

“A writer should always feel like he's in over his head”

“He nodded then cocked his head and gave me a sharp, policeman like look, as though realizing that he had been on the wrong page with me all along. I fell under the heading of Dealing with Assholes.”

“I need your help.”Royce looked up as if his head weighed a hundred pounds, his eyes red, his face ashen. He waited.“One last job,” Hadrian told him, then added, “I promise.”“Is it dangerous?”“Very.”“Is there a good chance I’ll get killed?”“Odds are definitely in favor of that.”Royce nodded, looked down at the scarf in his lap, and replied, “Okay.”

“He needs to tell me what he knows before he gets anything else from the Grahams."She folded her arms across her chest and gave him her best "you will do what I say" look. He only shrugged and kept drinking his coffee.Eva frowned at her. "Hija, you must be nice to Ranger Armstrong. His is a good man."Oliviva snorted. "I'll believe that when he treats me like a person instead of a pain in the ass.""You are a pain in the ass."At first she could hardly believe he'd said it, but then when it sank in, a chuckle burst out of her mouth. She didn't want to be amused by his smart mouth, but she was. "So are you. Now tell me what you know.”