Very well. I am now a man with now food, with two less fingers and one less toe than I was born with; I am a gunslinger with shells which may not fire; I am sickening from a monster’s bite and have no medicine; I have a day’s water if I’m lucky; I may be able to walk perhaps a dozen miles if I press myself to the last extremity. I am, in short, a man on the edge of everything.
Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Make do.
I am led irresistibly to this conclusion: food may be life, but the source of power is faith, not food. And who is more capable of a total act of faith than a child?
In the sudden, brief silence, she heard something within her turn over. Perhaps only her soul.
Aye. Would’ee speak a word of prayer first, Roland? To whatever God thee holds?” “I hold to no God,” Roland said. “I hold to the Tower, and won’t pray to that.
A man’s mouth gets him in more trouble than his pecker ever could, most of the time.
Thought only gives the world an appearance of order to anyone weak enough to be convinced by its show.
I don’t believe that there’s anything new under the sun. Oh, sometimes the glitter they sprinkle over the top of a thing changes, but that’s all. What’s been tried once had been tried once before... and before... and before.
I come to you and you see me whole,′ he says. ‘You love me all the way around the equator and not just for some story I wrote. When the door closes and the world’s outside, we’re eye to eye.
There ain’t no power in heaven or on earth that can stop people from thinkin the worst when they want to.
Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild.
The sun loses its thin grip on the air first, turning it cold, making it remember that winter is coming and winter will be long. Thin clouds form, and the shadows lengthen out. They have no breadth, as summer shadows have; there are no leaves on the trees or fat clouds in the sky to make them thick. They are gaunt, mean shadows that bite the ground like teeth.
As the twig is bent, so the bough is shaped.
I believe instinct’s the iron skeleton under all our ideas of free will. Unless you’re willing to take the pipe or eat the gun or take a long walk off a short dock, you can’t say no to some things. You can’t refuse to pick up your option because there is no option.
Some people have remarkably sturdy illusions.
At night your thoughts have an unpleasant way of slipping their collars and running free.
There’s little in life that’s so disheartening as constant cold.
Strange, the things you noticed when your day – your life – suddenly went over a cliff you hadn’t even known was there.
Nothing in nature is that even; man is the inventor of straight edges.
Feelings are invulnerable to rational thought.