Stephen King

In a queer, twisted way she felt sorry for him - a little boy with a huge power crammed inside a dwarfed spirit. A little boy who tried to make humans behave like toy soldiers and then stamped on them in a fit of temper when they wouldn't or when they found out.

God bless the grass.

It was very funny how George Stanner lost his arm in the mangler.

Fear makes us blind, and we touch each fear with all the avid curiosity of self-interest, trying to make a whole out of a hundred parts, like the blind men with their elephant.

We sense the shape. Children grasp it easily, forget it, and relearn it as adults. The shape is there, and most of us come to realize what it is sooner or later: it is the shape of a body under a sheet. All our fears add up to one great fear, all our fears are part of that great fear - an arm, a leg, a finger, an ear. We're afraid of the body under the sheet. It's our body. And the great appeal of horror fiction through the ages is that it serves as a rehearsal for our own deaths.

"And what happens if I go over one-eighty-two?"

Donatti smiled. "We'll send someone out to your house to cut of your wife's little finger," he said. "You can leave through this door, Mr. Morrison. Have a nice day."

I didn't like that machine. It seemed...almost to be mocking us.

When it came to pulling coals out of a hot fire, he'd put two dollars on Roland of Gilead for every one he put on God and the Man Jesus, those heavenly gunslingers.

Dad-a-chum, dad-a-chee! Not to worry, you've got the key!

Thankee-sai, long days, kiss my ass and go to heaven.

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

5 minutes of worth of blood and stupidity

First come smiles, then comes lies. Last is gunfire.