He felt that if he could get deep down in himself quickly enough, he would be okay, but sympathy might drive him mad.
I know,′ Roland said. ‘And no matter. We spread the time as we can, but in the end the world takes it all back.
I’m not a klutz and I’m not being stupid, ” he said.
To do otherwise with a ’prentice was to ask for a second, less playful bite. And who would be to blame for that? Who but the teacher? For was he not training her to bite? Training both of them to bite?
You take these.” A pair of bulky blue mittens dropped into Hallorann’s lap. “You’ll need em when you go off the road again, I guess. Cold out. You wear em unless you want to spend the rest of your life pickin your nose with a crochetin hook.
She wasn’t like a jukebox; you never had to put in a dime and she never came unplugged.
The wind doesn’t scratch at doors... or whine to be let in.
As if life were a joke, and heaven the place where the cosmic punchline is finally explained to us.
Maybe it’s an effort to lance the wound and clean it out. Or maybe it’s just that I’m not rich enough to afford a shrink. In.
The curse and blessing of the human race was its chumminess.
Morris’s face is melting. He shrieks and begins hugging the blazing, dissolving remnants of Rothstein’s work to his burning chest.
Please let it be a happy ending.
Because there was an abyss. And books contained magical incantations to raise what was hidden there, all the great mysteries. For Luke, those mysteries mattered. Someday in the future, he might write books of his own. But here the only future was Back Half. Here, the future of existence was, ‘What good would it do?
He felt feverish and a little sick to his stomach. How could a normal man in the twenty-first century accept a shape-shifting monster? If you believed in Holly Gibney’s outsider, her El Cuco, then everything was on the table. No end to the universe.
Talent is as common as table salt. The difference between a talented person and a successful one is a lot of hard work.
I didn’t bother tellin her no made-up story, because she always sees through em and has since I was knee-high to a collie.
I thought of how life had been before I realized I was a frog in a pot.
Sometimes I think life is a sad, bad business, Doc I really do.
I went on a Saturday afternoon, once more cutting through Dorrance Marstellar’s cornfield.
All I can say is what you already know: some days are treasure. Not many, but I think in almost every life there are a few.