Stephen King

Fighting for peace, is like f***ing for chastity

Was there even such a thing as normall? People had terrible things behing their faces sometimes. He knew that now.

Do you think... do you think people ever learn anything?

People are only rational on the surface.

Of course we're friends ... we are both civilized men, aren't we? We've shared bed and board and bottle. We'll always be friends, and the dog collar I have on you will always be ignored by mutual consent, and I'll take good and benevolent care of you. All I ask in return is your soul. Small item. We can even ignore the fact that you've handed it over, the way we ignore the dog collar.

The most important things are the hardest things to say, because words diminish them...

(...) if that's what has to be. no good friends. No bad riends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.

(...) if that's waht has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.

Maybe, he thought, there aren__ any such things as good friends or bad friends__aybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you__e hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they__e always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for, too, if that__ what has to be.

Friendships founded on laughter are always fortuitous.

Pride was the belt you used to hold your pants up when you had no pants.

If you've ever been homesick, or felt exiled from all the things and people that once defined you, you'll know how important welcoming words and friendly smiles can be.

FEAR stands for fuck everything and run.

I think that real friendship always makes us feel such sweet gratitude, because the world almost always seems like a very hard desert, and the flowers that grow there seem to grow against such high odds.

Friends don__ spy; true friendship is about privacy, too.

Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.

Humor is almost always anger with its make-up on.

That wasn't any act of God. That was an act of pure human fuckery.