Start with a blank surface. It doesn’t have to be paper or canvas, but I feel it should be white. We call it white because we need a word, but its true name is nothing. Black is the absence of light, but white is the absence of memory, the color of can’t remember.
It had been no struggle to turn his face to the south and leave it behind – but it had hurt his heart.
I was struck to my heart and through my heart, knocked clean out of my ordinary life.
Because it’s trouble, and it’s in our road. We’ll get there in time. No need to live in trouble until trouble comes.
For God’s sake, Larry, grow up. Develop a little self-righteousness. A lot of that is an ugly thing, God knows, but a little spread over all your scruples is an absolute necessity!
Overhead was a sky blacker than jewlers’ velvet, and a billion stars screamed down...
Every religion lies. Every moral precept is a delusion. Even the stars are a mirage. The truth is darkness, and the only thing that matters is making a statement before one enters it. Cutting the skin of the world and leaving a scar. That’s all history is, after all: scar tissue.
Thanks to you guys and girls who read my stuff, too. May you have long days and pleasant nights.
And that’s when you realize what the Wagon really is, Lloyd. It’s a church with bars on the windows, a church for women and a prison for you.
Ben smiled back, ‘Mark Twain said a novel was a confession to everything by a man who had never done anything.
Shadows were too black, and when a breeze stirred the trees, the shadows changed in a disquieting way.
What we’ve got here is a lunatic genius ghost-in-the-computer monorail that likes riddles and goes faster than the speed of sound. Welcome to the fantasy version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
The sky was the yellow color of old cheese and the clouds flew across it, as if they had seen something horrifying in the desert wastes where they had so lately been.
Things conceived by minds and made by hands can never be quite the same, even if they try their best to be identical, because they’re never the same from day to day or even moment to moment.
As soon as you have a child, you see your own tombstone.
Allie sighed. It was an old, yellow sound, like turning pages.
Never trust anything a fiction writer says about himself.
The George George Stark George Starked over the Starky Stark.
Everybody trusts a guy in a raincoat. I don’t know why. It’s just one of those mystery facts.
Sure. Sure you have. I never forget a face.