Paladin: Mr. Lee. A fence has two sides. Even this one.
Lee: I'm agreeable with that.
Paladin: Why don't you give in?
Lee: I've seen fences that didn't bother me none. They wind, the way the land winds. Nothing in nature is that straight. I wouldn't let Advent straighten that jog in the fence now, even if I hadn't promised his brother not to. That little crook in the fence, it pleasures me. Would you give in?
Paladin: I don't know.
Lee: Well, I thought about it once. Changed my mind, though.
Paladin: Oh, why?
Lee: Well, I got to thinking, 'bout how straight that blamed fence would be, and I couldn't sleep a wink all night.
Paladin: Lawson? Lawson, maybe an Indian wouldn't cry about this. But you're not an Indian any more. You're the son of Abraham Lee, and you can cry for him.
Paladin: You would not be satisfied until you had six feet of earth all your own.
Lawson: What do you want?
Paladin: You know, it's about time now that you started to think about the people you're gonna have to meet and get along with as you go on through life. The idea of hospitality is that your guests should enjoy themselves. You're making enemies.
Lawson: What are you getting at?
Paladin: Well, do you suppose I could give you some lessons in elementary stew?