If ka will say so, let it be so.
Mind over matter in any form is a terrific drain on the body’s resources.
He fled the light and the knowledge the light implied, and so came back to himself. Even so do the rest of us; even so the best of us.
That was the hurtful part of motherhood, not being able to fix what you couldn’t understand.
I think it was the first real pain I ever felt in my life... It wasn’t what I thought it would be at all. It didn’t put an end to me as a person. I think... it gave me a basis for comparison, finding out you could still exist inside the pain, in SPITE of the pain.
I know you,” she said. “You’re Stephen King. You write those scary stories. That’s all right, some people like them, but not me. I like uplifting stories, like that Shawshank Redemption.” “I wrote that too,” I said. “No you didn’t,” she said, and went on her way. The.
The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words make them smaller. When they were in your head, they were limitless; but when they come out they seem to be no bigger than normal things.
I remember something my mother used to say. “The Devil can quote scripture.
He began to limp home, because home was where you went when you were hurt and beaten.
In the end, all things, even the Beams, serve the Dark Tower. Did you think you would be any different?
Horace, like all dogs, heard dead-voices quite often, and sometimes saw their owners. The dead were all around, but living people saw them no more than they could smell most of the ten thousand aromas that surrounded them every minute of every day.
In nightmares we can think the worst. That’s what they’re for, I guess.
Money was no cure for sorrow, Alec reflected, but it did allow one to grieve in relative comfort.
There was an abyss. And books contained magical incantations to raise what was hidden there, all the great mysteries.
I denied Discordia and regret nothing; I have spat into the bodiless eyes of the Crimson King and rejoice; I threw my lot with the gunslinger and the White and never once questioned the choice.
You could get used to anything if you had to.
Sometimes I look up in spite of myself and see that the hospital wall, painted in soothing pastel yellow, has been replaced with gray stones held together by ancient mortar and covered with ivy. The ivy is dead, and the branches look like skeletal hands. The small door in the wall is hidden, Astrid was right about that, but it’s there. The voice comes from behind it, drifting through an ancient rusty keyhole.
People assume any twentieth-century white male writer must be an alcoholic.
There is a folk tale that before birth, every human soul knows all the secrets of life and death and the universe. But then, just before birth, an angel leans down, puts his finger to the new baby’s lips, and whispers “Shhh.”’ Harris touches his philtrum. ‘According to the story, this is the mark left by the angel’s finger. Every human being has one.
You know what, kid? It’s guys like you who give reading a bad name.