You look back on some little decision you made and realize all the things that happened because of it, and you think to yourself "if only I'd known," but, of course, you couldn't have known.

There are a lot of reasons to doubt things.

A story comes to you; it isn't like you choose it. You have no real control.

Odd, isn't it? You know when your birthday is, but not your death day, even though you pass the date year after year, never suspecting that some day.

I still have this deep-down fear that if I go poking into the bushes I might find a dead body.

I never thought that people my own age could die, let alone be murdered. Things like that didn't happen in 1955. The suburbs were a safe place, where nobody even locked their doors.

I think Stephen King must be the most terrified person in the universe.