"Hapscomb's Texaco sat on Number 93 just north of Arnette, a pissant four-street burg about 110 miles from Houston."
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Quote collection
Stephen King quotes (page 48 of 68)
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"You said 'God is cruel' the way a person who's lived his whole life on Tahiti might say 'Snow is cold'. You knew, but you didn't understand." He stepped close to David and put his palms on the boy's cold cheeks. "Do you know how cruel your God can be, David. How fantastically cruel?"
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"Time slowed and reality bent; on and on the eggman went."
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"Overhead was a sky blacker than jewlers' velvet, and a billion stars screamed down."
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"Listening to it was like having a mud-slimed piece of silk drawn lightly back and forth across her face."
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"He smiles a lot. But I think there might be worms inside him making him smile."
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"the year she had run fleetly through the dewy grass under the moon- the night of wine, when dreams condensed out of thin air like the nightmilk of fantasy."
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"Lightning flashed dully inside the clouds on the horizon making them look as if they had fireflies of their own, monster fireflies the size of dinosaurs."
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"a cloud-congested caul that is alternately red, orange, vermilion, purple. Sometimes the clouds break apart in great, slow rafts, letting through beams of innocent yellow sunlight that are bitterly nostalgic for the summer that has gone by."
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"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 sun nears the horizon, its benevolent yellow begins to deepen, to become infected, until it glares an angry inflamed orange. It throws a variegated glow over the horizon."
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"Crying was like pissing everything out on the ground."
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"and the rain went rollin down the windowpanes, and the shadows wiggled n' squiggled on her check and forehead like black veins."
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"That's something that is almost accidental at the beginning of a career, but the more you write, the more trained you are to recognize the little signals."
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"Wherever you write is supposed to be a little bit of a refuge, a place where you can get away from the world. The more closed in you are, the more you're forced back on your own imagination."
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"Clear communication between selves - the surface self and the deep self - is the enemy of self-doubt. It slays confusion."
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"Cut him. Cut him while I stand here and watch. I want to see the blood flow. Don't make me tell you twice."
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"A critical assumption is sometimes made that [Grisham, Clancey, Crichton & myself] have access to some mystical vulgate that other (and often better) writers cannot find or will not deign to use. I doubt if this is true. Nor do I believe the contention of some popular novelists... that thier success is based on literary merit -- that the public understands true greatness in ways the tight-a**ed, consumed-by-jealousy literary establishment cannot. This idea is ridiculous, a product of vanity and insecurity."
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"If you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your concerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects. If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered, anyway."
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"There’s always a choice. That’s God’s way, always will be. Your will is still free. Do as you will. There’s no set of leg-irons on you. But... this is what God wants of you."
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"Silent white light filled the world. And the righteous and unrighteous alike were consumed in that holy fire."
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