Quotes from Stephen King

Algunos pájaros no están destinados a que los enjaulen, eso es todo. Tienen las plumas demasiado brillantes, su canto es demasiado dulce y libre. Así que, o les dejas irse, o, cuando abres la jaula para darles de comer, se las arreglan para escapar volando. Y la parte de ti que en el fondo creía que era un error tenerlos cautivos se alboroza, pese al hecho de que el lugar en que vives sea mucho más lóbrego y triste tras su partida.

The same meat, at the same time, from the same butcher. Who always says the same things, unless I say something different. I'll admit, buddy, that it's sometimes crossed my mind to walk up to him and say, 'How's it going there, Mr. Warren, you old bald bastard? Been fucking any warm chicken-holes lately?

I must accept those things over which I have no control. I must turn my adversities into advantages.

As Lily Cavenaugh says in The Talisman (and it was Peter Straub's line, not mine), You can never be too thin or too rich. And if you don't believe it, you were never really fat or really poor.

Marry in haste, repent in leisure.

Mr. Robertson Davies has also suggested in his Deptford Trilogy that the same great truism which applies to writing, painting, picking horses at the track, and telling lies in a sincerely believable way, also applies to magic: some people got the knack, and some people don't. Hilly didn't.

He supposed he was fascinated by that commonplace sense of history that anyone can feel glancing through the fresh news of ten or twenty years ago.

He (Tom Riley) gestured toward the canvases in the main room. What are they, really? I mean, no bullshit. Because - I wouldn't say this to very many people - they remind me of the way life was inside my head when I wasn't taking my pills. They're just make-believe, I (Edgar) said. Shadows. I know about shadows, he said. You just want to be careful they don't grow teeth. Because they can. Then, sometimes when you reach for the light-switch to make them go away, you discover the power's out.

Explanations are such cheap poetry. My

Getting help from a guy like you is like hiring a pyromaniac to fix the oil-burner.

Bill Hodges is her touchstone, the way she measures her ability to interact with the world. Which is only another way of saying that he is the way she measures her sanity. Trying to imagine her life with him gone is like standing on top of a skyscraper and looking at the sidewalk sixty stories below.

Murder is blue

Every religion lies. Every moral precept is a delusion. Even the stars are a mirage.

She was my heart, and I guard what's there. Nobody takes it away from me.

Better to be dirty than dead.

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.

Insofar as story is concerned, and pleasure is concerned, there are not enough Stephen Kings to go around.

A marriage was like a house under constant construction, each year seeing the completion of new rooms. A first-year marriage was a cottage; one that had gone on for twenty-seven years was a huge and rambling mansion. There were bound to be crannies and storage spaces, most of them dusty and abandoned, some containing a few unpleasant relics you would just as soon you hadn't found. But that was no biggie. You either threw those relics out or took them to Goodwill.

reality is a thin skim of ice over a deep lake of dark water.

Chains (other than the ones we all learned to make out of strips of colored paper in kindergarten I suppose) are strong. We use them to pull engine blocks out of trucks and to bind the arms and legs of dangerous prisoners.

he had discovered, as many others had before him, that only the first cussword is really hard; after that, there's nothing quite like them for relieving one's feelings.

The father of sin was theft; every one of the Ten Commandments boiled down to "Thou shalt not steal." Murder was the theft of a life, adultery the theft of a wife, covetousness the secret, slinking theft that took place in the cave of the heart. Blasphemy was the theft of God's name, swiped from the House of the Lord and sent out to walk the streets like a strutting whore.

Sane men will often take a hint," Mr. Kenopensky said. "Crazy men rarely do.

He didn't just dig me; he dug me the MOST. Nothing can compare to hearing something like that from a seventeen-year-old kid who looks like he might be fully awake for the first time in his academic career.