He was looking through the eyes of the prisoner.
You’ve always known,” Tony continued, and he began to walk closer. For the first time, Tony began to walk closer. “You’re deep down in yourself in a place where nothing comes through. We’re alone here for a little while, Danny. This is an Overlook where no one can ever come. No clocks work here. None of the keys fit them and they can never be wound up. The doors have never been opened and no one has ever stayed in the rooms. But you can’t stay long. Because it’s coming.
Desert lore. Scripture in the wasteland. The resonance of lonely places.
Will you share khef with me, and share this water?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Drink, bondsman.’ Jake did. Then, before Roland could kiss him, he dropped the cup, flung his arms about the gunslinger’s neck, and whispered fiercely into his ear: ‘Roland, I love you.’ ‘I love you, too,’ he said, and released him. Outside, the wind gusted again. Jake waited for something to howl – perhaps in triumph – but nothing did.
As we become aware of our own unavoidable termination, we become aware of the fear-emotion. And I think that, as copulation tends towards self-preservation, all fear tends towards a comprehension of the final ending.
The more you find, the wronger it gets.
Ending is just another word for goodbye.
Born in lust, turn to dust. Born in sin, Come on in!
Most people are fitted with Lead Boots when they are just little kids and have to wear them all their lives. These Lead Boots are called A CONSCIENCE. I have none, so I can soar high above the heads of the Normal Crowd.
It was funny stuff, sanity. When it was taken away, you didn’t know it. You didn’t feel its departure. You only really knew it when it was restored, like some rare wild bird which lived and sang within you not by decree but by choice.
Because when katet breaks, the end always comes quickly. Say sorry.
Not a wind, not even a high, exactly, but an elevation. A sense that you had gone beyond yourself and could go farther still.
What really bugs Henry about Barry, he supposes, is Barry’s complacency. His inner assurance that there is no need to change his self-destructive behavior, let alone search for its roots.
Stephen King’s not the water, Susannah – he’s only the pipe the water runs through.
Reading is the creative centre of a writer’s life. You cannot hope to sweep someone else away by the force of your writing until it has been done to you.
I thought immediately – and guiltily – of the call I’d made to Mr. Harrigan’s phone. I told myself he was dead and couldn’t have had anything to do with it.
Patrick Hockstetter, a boy who had disappeared in July of 1958, and there were worms crawling in and out of Patrick Hockstetter’s cheeks, and that gassy, awful smell was coming from inside of Patrick Hockstetter, and in that dream that was more memory than dream he had looked to one side and had seen two schoolbooks that were fat with moisture and overgrown with green mold: Roads to Everywhere, and Understanding Our America.
Not so long ago he had avoided the bathroom scale because it showed too many pounds; now he stayed away for the opposite reason. The irony was not lost on him. For the time.
The proverb says revenge is a dish best eaten cold, but Ronson Fast-Lite had yet to be invented when they made that one up.
Sure. Knock yourself out.” “I don’t understand you.” “Do what you want.” “Ah.” The gunslinger nodded and lay back. Knock myself out, he thought. Knock. Myself out.