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Stephen King

"Same shit, different day, he thinks, but now the joy is gone and the sadness is back, the sadness that feels like something deserved, the price of some not-quite-forgotten betrayal."

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"Same shit, different day, he thinks, but now the joy is gone and the sadness is back, the sadness that feels like something deserved, the price of some not-quite-forgotten betrayal."

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Amber Hurdle

"Enthusiasm is a supernatural serenity."

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Amber Hurdle

"This is how we bring about our own damnation, you know-by ignoring the voice that begs us to stop. To stop while there's still time."

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Amber Hurdle

"I have wished a bird would fly away,And not sing by my house all day;Have clapped my hands at him from the doorWhen it seemed as if I could bear no more.The fault must partly have been in me.The bird was not to blame for his keys.And of course there must be something wrongIn waiting to silence any song."

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Amber Hurdle

"I wanted to say goodbye to someone, and have someone say goodbye to me. The goodbyes we speak and the goodbyes we hear are the goodbyes that tell us we re still alive."

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Amber Hurdle

"He could not say goodbye to these three rooms as he could to a house he had loved: hotel rooms accepted departures emotionlessly."

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Amber Hurdle

"I changed it. I had to. Do you know why?" She studied him, her eyes grave. "Because that was then and this is now. Because the past is gone, even though it defines the present."

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Amber Hurdle

"She could smell damprot, high, sweet, and cloying. She could smell madness like dead vegetables in a dark cellar."

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Amber Hurdle

"That- we seemed to have decided without saying a word- might go a long way toward spoiling something that was special, and beautiful, by virtue of its strangeness and delicacy."

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Amber Hurdle

"How does it happen that a writer who's not even very good - and I can say that, I've read four or five of his books - gets to be in charge of the world's destiny? Or of the entire universe's?"If he's not very good, why didn't you stop at one?"Mrs. Tassenbaum smiled. "TouchA©. He is readable, I'll give him that - tells a good story..."

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Amber Hurdle

"He is talking to people in Toronto, trying to find out if I am guilty; but he won't find it out that way. He doesn't understand yet that guilt comes to you not from the things you've done, but from the things that other have done for you."

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Stephen King
"For a woman a man will do many things that he'd turn his back on in an instant when alone; things he'd back away from, nine times out of ten, even when drunk adn with a bunch of his friends egging him on."
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Stephen King
"The inmates made jokes about the chair, the way people always make jokes about things that frighten them but can't be gotten away from."
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Stephen King
"This is how we bring about our own damnation, you know-by ignoring the voice that begs us to stop. To stop while there's still time."
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Stephen King
"If God gives you something you can do, why in God's name wouldn't you do it?"
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Stephen King
"Misery suffered did not justify misery to come."
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Stephen King
"Being needed is a great thing. Maybe the great thing."
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Stephen King
"Bad writing is more than a matter of shit syntax and faulty observation; bad writing usually arises from a stubborn refusal to tell stories about what people actually do- to face the fact, let us say, that murderers sometimes help old ladies cross the street."
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Stephen King
"I believe the first draft of a book - even a long one - should take no more than three months. Any longer and - for me, at least - the story begins to take on an odd foreign feel, like a dispatch from the Romanian Department of Public Affairs, or something broadcast on high-band shortwave duiring a period of severe sunspot activity."
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Stephen King
"There was murder, there was rape, there were unspeakable practices, and all of them were for the good, the bloody good, the bloody myth, for the grail, for the Tower."
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Stephen King
"It was how wars really ended, Dieffenbaker supposed -- not at truce tables but in cancer wards and office cafeterias and traffic jams. Wars died one tiny piece at a time, each piece something that fell like a memory, each lost like an echo that fades in winding hills. In the end even war ran up the white flag. Or so he hoped. He hoped that in the end even war surrendered."
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