The Overlook was still not done with him. Written on the mirror, not in lipstick but in blood, was a single word: REDRUM

On that gray street, with the smell of industrial smokes in the air and the afternoon bleeding away to evening, downtown Derry looked only marginally more charming than a dead hooker in a church pew.

Whenever anything important happens in America, they have to gold-plate it, like baby shoes. That way you can forget it.

So what he supposed to do? Grab Bobbie's ax and make like Jack Nicholson in The Shinning? He could see it. Smash, crash, bash: Heeeeeeere's GARDENER!

The loss of memory isn't always the problem; sometimes--maybe even often--it's the solution.

The road to hell is paved with adverbs.

The thing under my bed waiting to grab my ankle isn't real. I know that, and I also know that if I'm careful to keep my foot under the covers, it will never be able to grab my ankle.