He could feel the pores of his body open like a million mouths and slurp the water in like a sponge.

The Tower. He would come to the Dark Tower and there he would sing their names; there he would sing their names; there he would sing all their names. The sun stained the east a dusky rose, and at last Roland, no longer the last gunslinger but one of the last three, slept and dreamed his angry dreams through which there ran only that one soothing blue thread: There I will sing all their names!

Like some dogs: kick them once and they never trust you again, no matter how nice you are to them.

Was there ever a trap to match the trap of love?

Even at eleven, he had observed that things turned out right a ridiculous amount of the time.

Deep inside her (ih her harrowed soul) she felt a glowing ember of fury at the man responsible for this. Tha man who had put her in this position. She looked at the pistol lying beside the basin, and knew that if he were here, she would use it on him without a moment's hesitation. Knowing that made her feel confused about herself. It also made her feel a little stronger.

The color white is the absence of memory.