The Black Man grinned at her with his jackal mouth, and his scarlet eyes knew all the secrets of woman-blood.
Her hands were to her face but she could see through the prison of her fingers could see them how they were beautiful wrapped in light swathed in the bright angelic robes of Acceptance.
As we get older, our fears, in some way, sharpen and become more personal, because we can no longer -- let's say take a book like It or maybe Christine, and say these are make-believe fears.
A great whispering noise began to rise in the woods on either side of the tracks, as if the forest had just noticed we were there and was commenting on it.
It's a mystery. That's the first thing that interests me about the idea of God. If there is one, it's mysterious and powerful and awesome to even consider the concept, and you have to take it seriously.
Superhero movies and comic books teach a lesson that runs directly counter to the culture-of-violence idea: guns are for bad guys too cowardly to fight like men.
They were still all beautiful and there was still enchantment and wonder, but she had crossed a line and now the fairy tale was green with corruption and evil.
The cumulative power of doing things the same way every day seems to be a way of saying to the mind: You're going to be dreaming soon.
For a moment the dark and fearsomely sad thoughts which inhabit her mind grow even sadder and darker; Lisey thinks they will either kill her or drive her insane.
I see things, that's all. Write enough stories and every shadow on the floor looks like a footprint; every line in the dirt like a secret message.
It was life, often unsatisfying, frequently cruel, usually boring, sometimes beautiful, once in a while exhilarating.
A writer's notebook is the best way in the world to immortalize bad ideas. My idea about a good idea is one that sticks around and sticks around and sticks around.
If a writer knows what he or she is doing, I'll go along for the ride. If he or she doesn't... well, I'm in my fifties now, and there are a lot of books out there. I don't have time to waste with the poorly written ones.
If you're one of us, the bottle takes your shit, that's all. First a little, then a lot, then everything.
I was scared nearly out of my mind. I've faced blazing guns in the hands of angry men, which is bad; and daggers in the hands of angry women, which is a thousand times worse.
Stories are artifacts, not really made things which we create and can take credit for, but pre-existing objects which we dig up.
Art is the concrete artifact of faith and expectation, the realization of a world that would otherwise be little more than a veil of pointless consciousness stretched over a gulf of mystery.
Americans are apocalyptic by nature. The reason why is that we've always had so much, so we live in deadly fear that people are going to take it away from us.
I enjoy going back and forth between plays and novels. It's like having a wife and a mistress. Books are the wife; plays, the mistress.
I believe in evil, but all my life I've gone back and forth about whether or not there's an outside evil, whether or not there's a force in the world that really wants to destroy us, from the inside out, individually and collectively.
I obsess over the possibility of bad reviews and brood over them when they come. But they don't get me down for long; I just kill a few children and old ladies, and then I'm right as a trivet again.
In the stutter-flashes of light, the clouds look like huge transparent brains filled with bad thoughts.
Do you need someone to make you a paper badge with the word WRITER on it before you can believe you are one? God I hope not.
The sandwich he made was bologna and cheese, his favorite. All the sandwiches he made were his favorites; that was one of the advantages of being single.
That's me, Brady thought happily. When they give your middle name, you know you're an authentic boogeyman.
I'd like to take a motorcycle trip across Europe, maybe even across China. Of course I'd also like to broker a peace agreement between the Israelis and the Palestinians, but it's important to put ceilings on one's ambitions.
The idea that America exists in a culture of violence is bullshit. What America exists in is a culture of Kardashian.
I've been typed as a horror writer, and I've always said to people, I don't care what you call me as long as the checks don't bounce and the family gets fed.
The ghost story movie that scared me the most was The Changeling with George C. Scott. I think that's sometimes overlooked, but it's a wonderful piece of work.
Reading is the creative center of a writer's life.
Reading is the creative center of a writer’s life. I take a book with me everywhere I go, and find there are all sorts of opportunities to dip in. The trick is to teach yourself to read in small sips as well as in long swallows. Waiting rooms were made for books— of course! But so are theater lobbies before the show, long and boring checkout lines, and everyone’s favorite, the john. You can even read while you’re driving, thanks to the audiobook revolution. Of the books I read each year, anywhere from six to a dozen are on tape.
A bad song for a night such as this, mayhap, but her heart went its own way without much interest in what her head thought or wanted; always had.
This is what romance gets you -- a noose around your neck and a crazy woman with two guns somewhere behind you.
Working with him was sort of like trying to defuse a bomb with somebody standing behind you and every now and then clashing a pair of cymbals together. In a word, upsetting.
It is, after all, the dab of grit that seeps into an oyster's shell that makes the pearl, not pearl-making seminars with other oysters.
If there's to be damnation, she had said, let it be of my choosing, not theirs. He knew a little about damnation himself… and he had an idea that the lessons, far from being done, were just beginning.
Showrunning is a thing where you have to work with tons of different people. You have to schmooze people, you have to talk to network people. I don't want to do any of that.
Who gets to be best-liked in any community? Who is the most trusted? Why, the man who does the dirty job, of course, and does it with a smile. The man who does the job you couldn't bring yourself to do.
The perception of a child who has not yet learned to protect itself by developing the tunnel vision that keeps out ninety percent of the universe.
They were trying to run, trying to hide. But the rock would not hide them; the dead tree gave no shelter.
The idea for a novel is like a little tiny fire in a dark night. And, one by one, the characters come and stand around it and warm their hands.
The shining. It was a good name, a comforting name, because she had always thought of it as a dark thing.
Roland's heart seemed to twist like a rag inside his chest, and there was a moment to wonder how it could possibly go on beating in the face of this.
What seems solid to us is actually only a loose net held together by gravity. Everything in the Universe denies 'nothing'. To suggest an ending is the one absurdity -The Man in Black from Stephen King's The Gunslinger.
The folks who end up living the lives like they expected are more often than not the ones who end up takin sleepin pills or stickin the barrel of a gun in their mouths and pullin the trigger.
This situation is not quite beyond saving, but should you carry on much further -- should you give voice to such thoughts -- it will be.
How infinite was love, twining in and out of hope and memory like a braid with three strong strands, so much the Bright Tower of every human's life and soul.
As for the end of the universe…I say let it come as it will, in ice, fire, or darkness. What did the universe ever do for me that I should mind its welfare?
And now, all these years later, it seem to him that the most horrible fact of human existence was that broken hearts mended.
Let the word and the legend go before you. Let the world go before you. Let your shadow grow. Let it grow hair on its face. Let it become dark. Given time, words may even enchant an enchanter.
The last good time always comes, and when you see the darkness creeping toward you, you hold on to what was bright and good. You hold on for dear life.
A hurt body and mind aren't just like a dictatorship; they are a dictatorship. There is no tyrant as merciless as pain, no despot so cruel as confusion.
There are things of such darkness and horror--just, I suppose, as there are things of such great beauty--that they will not fit through the puny human doors of perception.
I'm seen as somebody who writes for adults because I'm an older man myself. Some of them find me, and a lot of them don't.
I think a lot of times dreams are nothing more than a kind of mental or spiritual flatulence. They're a way of relieving pressure.
I'm not the first person to have said this -- no writer ever feels that the execution of a book lives up to the idea for that book. The execution always falls short.
He put the car in gear and went, feeling again how easy it had been to slip through an unexpected fissure in what he had considered a solid life- how easy it was to get over onto the dark side, to sail out of the blue and into the black.
The first movie I ever saw was a horror movie. It was Bambi. When that little deer gets caught in a forest fire, I was terrified, but I was also exhilarated.
You are the grim, goal-oriented ones who will not believe that the joy is in the journey rather than the destination no matter how many times it has been proven to you.
Sons figured out they were bigger and never forgot it. Sons didn't care about the world they left for their sons or for their daughters, although they said they did when the time came to run for office.
And I wonder if there is really any point to what I'm doing, or what I'm supposed to make of a world where a man can get rich playing let's pretend.
You can see the goldenrod, that most tenacious and pernicious and beauteous of all New England flora, bowing away from the wind like a great and silent congregation.
The universe (he said) offers a paradox too great for the finite mind to grasp. As the living brain cannot conceive of a nonliving brain -- although it may think it can -- the finite mind cannot grasp the infinite.
Death, but not for you, gunslinger. Never for you. You darkle. You tinct. May I be brutally frank? You go on.
There are a lot of people in the field of horror stories that I do read. There is a lot of stuff that is written in this field, though, that is not very good. You just have to look for the good stuff.
Roland could not understand why anyone would want cocaine or any other illegal drug, for that matter, in a world where such a powerful one as sugar was so plentiful and cheap.
You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or despair ... Come to it any way but lightly.
You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair - the sense that you can never completely put on the page what's in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page.
What we've got here is a lunatic genius ghost-in-the-computer monorail that likes riddles and goes faster than the speed of sound. Welcome to the fantasy version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
But I believe in love, you know; love is a uniquely portable magic. I don't think it's in the stars, but I do believe that blood calls to blood and mind calls to mind and heart to heart.
But time changed. That was something only drunks and junkies understood. When you
couldn't sleep, when you were afraid to look around because of what you might see, time elongated and grew sharp teeth.
Time is a keyhole.... We sometimes bend and peer through it. And the wind we feel on our cheeks when we do -- the wind that blows through the keyhole -- is the breath of all the living universe.
No! Oy agreed. Zero surprise there; if Ake said it, you could take it to the bumbler bank, as far as Oy was concerned.
Roland grabbed Jake and hauled him to his feet. You came! Jake shouted. You really came! I came, yes. By the grace of the gods and the courage of my friends, I came.
Zitner said hell would freeze over before something like that happened. Harold had a brief image of Adolf Hitler and Judas Iscariot handing out ice-skates and went on heaving sandbags.
For the first time in my life, writing was hard. The problem was the teaching...by most Friday afternoons I felt as if I'd spent the week with jumper cables clamped to my brain.
Part of her wanted to run. Never mind how flowing water was bound to take her to people eventually, all that was likely just a crock of Little House of the Prairie shit.
Never had he seen a man who looked so lonely, so far from the run of human life with its fellowship and warmth. To see him here, in this place of fiesta, only underlined the truth of him: he was the last. There was no other.
No one ever does live happily ever after, but we leave the children to find that out for themselves.
And will I tell you that these three lived happily ever after? I will not, for no one ever does. But there was happiness. And they did live.
You've got to do something to fill up your day. And I can only play so much guitar and watch so many TV shows. It fulfills me. There are two things about it I like: It makes me happy, and it makes other people happy.
I think that we're all mentally ill. Those of us outside the asylums only hide it a little better -- and maybe not all that much better after all.
When the dawn was still long hours away, bad thoughts took on flesh and began to walk. In the middle of the night thoughts became zombies.
I think most of us are fascinated by the macabre and by the weird and even the nastiness that comes along.
The world, although well-lighted with fluorescents and incandescent bulbs and neon, is still full of odd dark corners and unsettling nooks and crannies.
'Nothing lasts forever,' Richie repeated. He looked up at Bill, and Bill saw tears cut slowly through the dirt on Richie's cheeks.
'Except maybe for love,' Ben said.
'And desire,' Beverly said.
Oddly, the burned hand didn't seem to hurt much anymore; it was only numb. It would have been better if there had been pain. Pain was at least real.
The sun was a molten coin burning a circle in the low-hanging overcast, surrounded by a fairy-ring of moisture.
The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want for nothing. He makes me lie down in the green pastures. He greases up my head with oil. He gives me kung-fu in the face of my enemies. Amen.
Of course when you were running with the bottom dogs, what you mostly saw were paws, claws, and assholes.
I remember that I wanted to kill It,' Bill said, and for the first time (and ever after) he heard the pronoun gain proper-noun status in his own voice.
If I can get it down on paper without puking all over the word processor, then as far as I'm concerned, it's fit to see the light of day.
I can remember, as a kid, one of my fellow kids asking me to imagine sliding down a long, polished bannister which suddenly and without warning turns into a razorblade. Man, I was days getting over that.
There was an ocean above us, held in by a thin sac that might rupture and let down a flood at any second.
He remembered waking up once, listening to the wind, thinking of all the dark and rushing cold outside and all the warmth of this bed, filled with their peaceful heat under two quilts, and wishing it could be like this forever.
The sort of strenuous reading and writing program I advocate -- four to six hours a day, every day -- will not seem strenuous if you really enjoy doing these things and have an aptitude for them.
She ran out of her marriage the way a woman can run out of a pair of sandals when she decides to let go and really dash.
And he thought that, had he been wearing his guns, he might well have drawn one and put a bullet in Susan Delgado's cold and whoring little heart.
Their situation was becoming ever harder to deny: they were characters in someone's story. This whole world.
I'm afraid to go to sleep. I'm afraid my dead friends will come to me, and that seeing them will kill me.
He wanted her, suddenly and completely, with a desperate depth of feeling that felt like sickness. Everything he was and everything he had come for, it seemed, was secondary to her.
And so will the world end, I think, a victim of love rather than hate. For love's ever been the more destructive weapon, sure.
A person's never too old for stories. Man and boy, girl and woman, we live for them. -- Roland Deschain.
When creative people do their best work, they're hardly ever in charge, they're just sort of rolling along with their eyes shut yelling wheee.
I don't take notes; I don't outline, I don't do anything like that. I just flail away at the goddamn thing. I'm a salami writer. I try to write good salami, but salami is salami. You can't sell it as caviar.