He lay back, put his arm over his eyes, and tried to hold onto the anger, because the anger made him feel brave. A brave man could think. A coward couldn’t.
Kill if you will, but command me nothing!
Mrs. Cole was a perfect democrat. She hated all kids equally.
The tears that heal are also the tears that scald and scourge.
Time continued to pass – the oldest trick in the world, and maybe the only one that really is magic.
It’s hard to make strangers care about the good things in your life.
The only religions I don’t like are the ones that insist their God is bigger than your God.
It hurt, of course, but more often than not the best things do, I’ve found.
The loss of memory isn’t always the problem; sometimes – maybe even often – it’s the solution.
Death, but not for you, gunslinger. Never for you. You darkle. You tinct. May I be brutally frank? You go on.
They were still all beautiful and there was still enchantment and wonder, but she had crossed a line and now the fairy tale was green with corruption and evil.
A woman who would steal your love when your love was really all you had to give was not much of a woman.
There’s nothing like stories on a windy night when folks have found a warm place in a cold world.
Pray for rain all you like, but dig a well as you do it.
You know how it’s going to end, but instead of spoiling things, that somehow increases your fascination. It’s like watching a kid run his electric train faster and faster and waiting for it to derail on one of the curves.
Sooner or later everything you thought you’d left behind comes around again. For good or ill, it comes around again.
Say your name over two hundred times and discover you are no one.
Our memories have voices, too. Often sad ones that clamor like raised arms in the dark.
In the years since, I’ve discovered there’s a lot to be said for boredom.
Hearts are tough, Most times they don’t break. Most times they are only bend.