Quotes from Stephen King

As far as I'm concerned, high school sucked when I went, and probably sucks now. I tend to regard people who remember it as the best four years of their lives with caution and a degree of pity.

There are lots of guys out there who write a better prose line than I do and who have a better understanding of what people are really like and what humanity is supposed to mean – hell, I know that.

Good luck is just bad luck with its hair combed.

You don't always talk with your mouth. Sometimes what you say with your mouth hardly matters at all. You have to signify

Books were escape. Books were freedom.

Ben smiled back, 'Mark Twain said a novel was a confession to everything by a man who had never done anything.

People's minds, particularly the minds of children, are like wells—deep wells full of sweet water. And sometimes, when a particular thought is too unpleasant to bear, the person who has that thought will lock it into a heavy box and throw it into that well. He listens for the splash . . . and then the box is gone. Except it is not, of course. Not really.

Just promise me you'll stop every once in a while and acknowledge the day, honey. It's the only one you'll have until tomorrow.

He had come to believe that life was a series of ironic ambushes.

The only religions I don't like are the ones that insist their God is bigger than your God.

Even at eleven, he had observed that things turned out right a ridiculous amount of the time.

It's only a little secret, but having a secret makes me feel better. Like a human being again.

The stories we hear in our childhood are the ones we remember all our lives.

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.

They walked through the rainy dark like gaunt ghosts, and Garraty didn't like to look at them. They were the walking dead.

It's a long walk back to Eden, sweetheart, so don't sweat the small stuff.

He was a clot looking for a place to happen, a splinter of bone hunting a soft organ to puncture, a lonely lunatic cell looking for a mate - they would set up housekeeping and raise themselves a cozy little malignant tumor.

Disquiet and desire. What you want and what you're scared to try for. Where you've been and where you want to go. Something in a rock-and-roll song about wanting the girl, the car, the place to stand and be. Oh please God can you dig it.

I hold to no God, Roland said. I hold to the Tower, and won't pray to that.

All you imagined, no matter how wild it might seem, was no more than a disguised version of what you already knew.

You might question a winkle - a feeling that came to you right out of the blue - but you didn't question knowing.

I'd been raised by my parents to believe barfing your feelings on other people was the height of impoliteness...

History doesn't repeat itself, but it harmonizes, and what it usually makes is the devil's music.

It's the pool where we all go down to drink, to swim, to catch a little fish from the edge of the shore; it's also the pool where some hardy souls go out in their flimsy wooden boats after the big ones. It is the pool of life, the cup of imagination, and she has an idea that different people see different versions of it, but with two things ever in common: it's always about a mile deep in the Fairy Forest, and it's always sad. Because imagination isn't the only thing this place is about.