A crazy certainty had arisen in his mind: a hand – or perhaps a claw – was going to swim up from the grayness of the Kindle’s screen, grab him by the throat, and yank him in.
What’s a self-respecting amusement park without a ghost?
At moments like this he suspected that Hitler had been nothing but a harried bureaucrat and Satan himself a mental defective with a rudimentary sense of humor-the kind that finds feeding firecrackers wrapped in bread to seagulls unutterably funny.
I read more than I had in years-novels, short stories, three long nonfiction books about how we had stumbled into the Iraq mess (the short answer appeared to have W for a middle initial and a dick for a Vice President).
There’s a Reason Cell Rhymes with Hell
When the blood came out of my mouth I could taste my own shit.
I’ve met talespinners before, Jake, and they’re all cut more or less from the same cloth. They tell tales because they’re afraid of life.
Pon distancia y trata de mantener la sonrisa. Sintoniza un rock and roll en la radio y ve hacia toda la vida que existe con todo el valor que puedas reunir y toda la fe que logres invocar. Sé leal, sé valiente, aguanta. El resto es oscuridad.
There’s no tonic like an old friend.
The soil of a man’s heart is stonier … A man grows what he can… and he tends it” – Jud Crandall, Chapter 22 (near end) Pet Sematary