Quotes from Stephen King

What Writing Is: Telepathy, of course.

Love didn't grow very well in a place where there was only fear, just as plants didn't grow very well in a place where it was always dark.

Oh no, praying is great, without it the thumbscrews and the Iron Maiden probably never would have been invented.

When you lived in the funhouse, the laff riot just never stopped.

Let evil wait for the day on which it must fall.

Being ninety-five percent sure isn't a hundred.

It occurred to me that the man I really wanted to hurt was safely out of my reach, standing behind a shield of years.

Some guys-a lot of guys-don't believe what they are seeing, especially if it gets in the way of what they want to eat or drink or believe. Me, I don't believe in God. But if i saw him, I would. I wouldn't just go around saying, Jesus, that was a great special effect. The definition of an asshole is a guy who doesn't believe what he's seeing.

you will not falter, because you will have the Everlasting Arm of the Lord God of Hosts to lean on. Yes. With God's help you will stand.

In a don't-give-a-fuck world, he is about to become the ultimate don't-give-a-fucker.

The most important things are the hardest things to say, because words diminish them...

Him's name is Roland, Mama. I dream about him, sometimes. Him's a King, too.

As I believe I have said, everyone in prison is an innocent man. Oh, they read the scripture the way those holy rollers on TV read the Book of Revelations. They were the victims of judges with hearts of stone and balls to match, or incompetent lawyers, or police frame-ups, or bad luck. They read the scripture, but you can see a different scripture in their faces. Most cons are a low sort, no good to themselves or anyone else, and their worst luck was that their mothers carried them to term.

In that instant she knew what it must feel like to cross a river into a foreign country, and then set fire to the bridge behind you, and stand on the riverbank, watching and breathing deeply as your only chance of retreat went up in smoke.

Even a zombie lurching through the night can seem pretty cheerful compared to the existential comedy/horror of the ozone layer dissolving under the combined assault of a million fluorocarbon spray cans of deodorant.

Stories take a person away. If they're good ones, that is.

I told myself there was time. Of course, that's what we always tell ourselves, isn't it? We can't imagine time running out, and God punishes us for what we can't imagine.

The worst thing about wishes is that sometimes they come true

He says there's a reason wife and life sound almost the same.

But who can foresee such things? None of us can predict the final outcomes of our actions, and few of us even try; most of us just do what we do to prolong a moment's pleasure or to stop the pain. And even when we act for the noblest reasons, the last link of the chain all too often drips with someone's blood.

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.

Time is a thief of memory

When asked, How do you write? I invariably answer, one word at a time.

If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot…reading is the creative center of a writer's life…you cannot hope to sweep someone else away by the force of your writing until it has been done to you.