When I called it quits, I stopped in the lobby to thank the concierge again for letting me use Mr. Kipling’s beautiful desk. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he replied. He was wearing a misty, reminiscent little smile, as if he had known the writer himself. “Kipling died there, actually. Of a stroke. While he was writing.

— Stephen King

Stephen King Quotes

He would write it because the Overlook had enchanted him-could any other explanation be so simple or so true? He would write it for the reason he felt that all great literature, fiction and nonfiction, was written: truth comes out, in the end it always comes out. He would write it because he felt he had to.

— Stephen King

He had locked himself safely away in a place beyond pain.

— Stephen King

There’s a wavelength, and they’re on it.

— Stephen King

Those OxyContins he takes aren’t just pain pills, they’re stupid pills.

— Stephen King

Are these the voices of our dead friends, or just the gramophone?

— Stephen King

Might as well spit in the ocean.

— Stephen King

The pain had driven him out of his mind. You could see it on his face. If that guy came back, he probably wouldn’t be in a saving mood. The.

— Stephen King

Wenn man lange genug an etwas denkt, dachte ich, dann wird es Wirklichkeit.

— Stephen King

The right to life.

— Stephen King

Menschen, die Alibis brauchten, waren Menschen, die Geheimnisse hatten.

— Stephen King

Footsteps approaching the door or only the heartbeat in his ears?

— Stephen King

I believe you hear a click, not in your head but in your soul, when you find the place where you belong. You can ignore it, but really, why would you?

— Stephen King

What do you mean, visiting hours? Don’t talk to me about visiting hours, that’s my son!

— Stephen King

It goes back to what I said about Andy wearing his freedom like an invisibility coat, about how he never really developed a prison mentality. His eyes never got that dull look.

— Stephen King

It was a love that had nothing to do with Joe Camber’s day-to-day behavior toward him or his mother; it was a brute, biological thing that he would never be free of, a phenomenon with many illusory referents of the sort which haunt for a lifetime: the smell of cigarette smoke, the look of a double-edged razor reflected in a mirror, pants hung over a chair, certain curse words.

— Stephen King

Honesty’s the best policy. – Miguel de Cervantes Liars prosper. – Anonymous.

— Stephen King

The grass in the back field was almost waist high, and now there was goldenrod, that late-summer gossip which comes to tattle on autumn every year. But there was no autumn in the air today; the sun was still all August, although calendar August was almost two weeks gone.

— Stephen King

The body was much smaller than the heart it had held.

— Stephen King

What was right with him he’d only give you a little at a time. What was wrong with him he kept bottled up inside.

— Stephen King

I want to tell you something else, something I’m really starting to believe: I’m going to be okay. Not today, not tomorrow, and not next week, but eventually. As okay as we mortals are privileged to get, anyway. It’s good to know that – good to know that survival is still an option, and that sometimes it even feels good. That sometimes it actually feels like victory.

— Stephen King
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