Montana. It's everything Colorado thinks it is.

On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. In the slanting sun of late afternoon the shadows of great branches reached across the river, and the trees took the river in their arms.

I am in love with Montana . . . Montana seems to me to be what a small boy would think Texas is like from hearing Texans.

Giving freaks a pass is the oldest tradition in Montana.

There is such a quiet desperation and chronic sense of dullness to Helena, Montana, which makes it the most socially grotesque and culturally bitter of any of the capital cities.

We have always been dreamers in Montana.