he looked to her like an absurd twentieth-century Hamlet, an indecisive figure so mesmerized by onrushing tragedy that he was helpless to divert its course or alter it in any way.
Stephen KingDeath, but not for you, gunslinger. Never for you. You darkle. You tinct. May I be brutally frank? You go on.
Stephen KingCome to a book as you would come to an unexplored land. Come without a map. Explore it, and draw your own map.... A book is like a pump. It gives nothing unless first you give to it.
Stephen King