Stephen King

Your hair is winter fire,January embers.My heart burns there, too.-Stephen King, IT

When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, There's just something about you that pisses me off.

He who speaks without an attentive ear is mute.

It was all right to feel fear, but sometimes a very bad idea to show it.

You laugh because what's fearful and unknown is also what's funny, you laugh the way a small child will sometimes laugh and cry at the same time when a capering circus clown approaches, knowing it is supposed to be funny... but it is also unknown, full of the unknown's eternal power.

Love didn't grow very well in a place where there was only fear, just as plants didn't grow very well in a place where it was always dark.

Maybe he sells fear because he's got nothing else to sell.

FEAR stands for face everything and recover _ Old AA saying

Before drifting away entirely, he found himself reflecting---not for the first time---on the peculiarity of adults. Thet took laxatives, liquor, or sleeping pills to drive away their terrors so that sleep would come, and their terrors were so tame and domestic: the job, the money, what the teacher will think if I can't get Jennie nicer clothes, does my wife still love me, who are my friends. They were pallid compared to the fears every child lies cheek and jowl with in his dark bed, with no one to confess to in hope of perfect understanding but another child. There is no group therapy or psychiatry or community social services for the child who must cope with the thing under the bed or in the cellar every night, the thing which leers and capers and threatens just beyond the point where vision will reach. The same lonely battle must be fought night after night and the only cure is the eventual ossification of the imaginary faculties, and this is called adulthood.

Love didn't grow very well in a place where there was only fear

If a fear cannot be articulated, it can't be conquered.

Eddie discovered one of his childhood's great truths. Grownups are the real monsters, he thought.

The 3 types of terror: The Gross-out: the sight of a severed head tumbling down a flight of stairs, it's when the lights go out and something green and slimy splatters against your arm. The Horror: the unnatural, spiders the size of bears, the dead waking up and walking around, it's when the lights go out and something with claws grabs you by the arm. And the last and worse one: Terror, when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It's when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there's nothing there...

I tend to scare myself.

Until we see each other again, keep your head together, read some good books, be useful, be happy.

The things of the world fell by the wayside . . . but literature was eternal.

There's nothing I like better than a good book discussion with someone who can hold up his end of the argument.

If someone had asked him, __en, are you lonely? , _ he would have looked at that someone with real surprise. The question had never even occurred to him. He had no friends, but he had his books and his dreams;