Quotes from Richard Bachman

Sus rostros eran absolutamente similares en un detalle: parecían extremadamente incompletos, como cuadros con agujeros por ojos o como un rompecabezas al que le faltase una pieza nimia. Y eso que echaba en falta, pensó Richards, era el aire de desesperación. En sus estómagos no aullaban los lobos. Sus mentes no estaban llenas de sueños viciados, de esperanzas insensatas.

They got that way, Garraty had noticed. Complete withdrawal from everything and everyone around them. Everything but the road. They stared at the road with a kind of horrid fascination, as if it were a tightrope they had to walk over an endless, bottomless chasm

When everything is at its worst, your mind just throws it all into the wastebasket and goes to Florida for a little while. There is a sudden electric what-the-hell glow as you stand there looking back over your shoulder at the bridge you just burnt down.

Two years ago. To the best of my recollection, that was about the time I started to lose my mind.

They're animals, all right. But why are you so sure that makes us human beings?

Freddy, forty is the end of being young. Well, actually thirty's the end of being young forty is where you stop fooling yourself.

turnpike itself. Garraty

Garraty watched apathetically and thought, even the horror wears thin. There's a surfeit even of death.

The dead are orphans. No company but the silence like a moth's wing.

A mule doesn't like to plow. But he likes carrots. So you hang a carrot in front of his eyes. A mule without a carrot gets exhausted. A mule with a carrot spends a long time being tired.

Blaze thought: I'm going somewhere. Then he thought: I am somewhere. The first thought made him happy. The second was so big it made him feel like crying.

A nice street, Fred. A nice neighborhood. Oh, I know how the intellectuals sneer at suburbia - it's not as romantic as the rat-infested tenements or the hale-and-hearty back-to-the-land stuff. There are no great museums in suburbia, no great forests, no great challenges.

He swallowed, aware that his mind was broadcasting echoes of itself, helpless to stop, hypnotized by the grinding, Cyclopean eye of posterity.

You're dumb, Garraty. You and me and Pearson and Barkovitch and Stebbins, we're all dumb. Scramm's dumb because he thinks he understands and he doesn't. Olson's dumb because he understood too much too late.

Yo comprendo que es morir, me parece-dijo de pronto Pearson-. Ahora lo comprendo. No la muerte en si, a eso todavia no llego; pero entiendo que es morir. Si dejo de caminar, punto final. [...]-Observó a Scramm y, con aire sincero, añadió-: Quizá sea como dices. Quizá no baste, pero...No quiero morir. Scramm le devolvió la mirada con aire casi desdeñoso. -¿Y crees que comprender la muerte va a librarte de morir?

Sometimes when he was in the country he would sleep in a barn and wake in the night and go out and look at the stars and there were so many, and he knew they were there before him, and they would be there after him. That was sort of awful and sort of wonderful.

There are no curses, only mirrors you hold up to the souls of men and women.

We don't bring anything into the world and we sure as shit don't take anything out.

All the world is God,' McVries said, and giggled hysterically. 'We're walking on the Lord, and back there the flies are crawling on the Lord, in fact the flies are also the Lord, so blessed be the fruit of thy womb Percy. Amen, hallelujah, chunky peanut butter. Our father, which art in tinfoil, hallow'd be thy name.

wonder what I would say at his funeral if someone gave me a dose of Pentothal an hour before the services." (chap. 10)

Staying alive hardly qualifies as a hobby.' 'I don't know about that. ...

Garraty thought that memories were like a line drawn in the dirt. The further back you went the scuffier and harder to see that line got. Until finally there was nothing but smooth sand and the black hole of nothingness that you came out of. The memories were in a way like the road. Here it was real and hard and tangible. But that early road, that nine in the morning road, was far back and meaningless.

Los recuerdos eran como una línea trazada en el polvo. Cuanto más se retrocedía en ellos, más borrosa y difícil de ver se hacía la línea

when you work for the Government, the Government is twice as aware that you're alive