Keine Seele, aber Humor. Das war es; eine Art tanzende, irre Heiterkeit.
No more obsessive writing, either, accumulating notebook after notebook like little piles of rabbit turds scattered along a woodland trail.
He said it was as if Tommy had produced a key which fit a cage in the back of his mind, a cage like his own cell. Only instead of holding a man, that cage held a tiger, and that tiger’s name was Hope. Williams produced the key that unlocked the cage and the tiger was out, willy-nilly, to roam his brain.
Flattery,” Wendy told him, “is when your daddy says he likes my new yellow slacks even if he doesn’t or when he says I don’t need to take off five pounds.” “Oh. Is it lying for fun?
But never underestimate the American bourgeoisie’s capacity to embrace fascism under the name of populism.
They are as they are because they live in the light, the gunslinger thought suddenly. That light of civilization you were taught to adore above all other things. They live in a world which has not moved on.
At such times one sees everything and remembers it all. I know from personal experience. I wish I did not.
The truth was often like that, he thought – a bleary circle of light behind clouds.
Sometimes human places, create inhuman monsters. – Stephen King, The Shining.
It’s his voice that I remember, certainly: my father’s voice, low and slow, how he would chuckle sometimes or laugh outright.
Sein Ausgehgesicht hing im Schrank bei seinem Regenschirm und seinem Schlapphut.
Ich will genau wissen, was an jenen Orten geschehen ist. Und ich will wissen, worin mehr Wahrheit liegt – im Text oder in den Anzeigen daneben.
Yet still, perhaps we’re well-met.” “Perhaps we are,” the gunslinger replied.
When it comes to writing fiction, long or short, the learning curve never ends. I may be a Professional Writer to the IRS when I file my tax return, but in creative terms, I’m still an amateur, still learning my craft. We all are.
Smoke puffed from the open V of his shirt. And still the humming of the electricity went on and on, filling my head, vibrating in there. I think it’s the sound mad people must hear, that or something like it.
Die Schuld liegt immer am selben Ort, meine feinen Kinderchen: bei dem, der schwach genug ist, sie auf sich zu nehmen.
I used to work for this guy before I came here,” Dinky said. “Mr. Sharpton, his name was. He used to tell me that never’s the word God listens for when he needs a laugh.
He is a mechanic of the brain. He has cut it to piecese and found no soul. Therefore there is none. Like the Russian astronauts who circled the earth and did not see God. It is the empiricism of the mechanic, and a mechanic is only a child with superior motor control.
The article in the News had called it a falling accident, and it was true that Branson Buddinger had taken a fall. What the News neglected to mention was that he fell from a stool in his closet and he had a noose around his neck at the time.
I was saying that I’d only ask three beers apiece for my co-workers, if that seems fair,” Andy said. “I think a man feels more like a man when he’s working out of doors in the springtime if he can have a bottle of suds. That’s only my opinion. It would go down smooth, and I’m sure you’d have their gratitude.