By the time I was fourteen the nail in my wall would no longer support the weight of the rejection slips impaled upon it. I replaced the nail with a spike and went on writing.

The town has a sense, not of history, but of time, and the telephone poles seem to know this. If you lay your hand against one, you can feel the vibration from the wires deep within the wood, as if souls had been imprisoned in there and were struggling to get out.

It was as hysterical as a woman having a hot flash.

Roland had taught him that self-deception was nothing but pride in disguise, an indulgence to be denied.

you can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.

For men, I think, love is a thing formed of equal parts lust and astonishment. The astonishment part women understand. The lust part they only think they understand.

Ka works and the world moves on.