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“There's nothing like stories on a windy night when folks have found a warm place in a cold world.”

I refuse to believe that I was raised in Brooklyn simply because of some writer's mistake, something that will eventually be fixed in the second draft.

Anger is the most useless emotion; destructive to the mind and hurtful of the heart.

"Pray for rain all you like, but dig a well as you do it."

Roland was as much a prisoner of his rules and traditions as Eddie had ever been of heroin.

“In the end, the wind takes everything, doesn't it? And why not? Why other? If the sweetness of our lives did not depart, there would be no sweetness at all.”

“It was not fair, it was not fair, it was not fair. So cried his child's heart, and then his child's heart died a little. For that is also the way of the world.”

We spread the time as we can, but in the end the world takes it all back.

You doom yourselves, Susannah. You seem positively bent on it, and the root is always the same: your faith fails you, and you replace it with rational thought. But there is no love in thought, nothing that lasts in deduction, only death in rationalism.

I don't think he needs to be immortal. I think all he needs to do is to write the right story. Because some stories do live forever.

All of your lies will cross your eyes.

Dead, like diamonds, was forever.