You learned to accept, or you ended up in a small room writing letters home with Crayolas.

The concept of dreaming is known to the waking mind but to the dreamer there is no waking, no real world, no sanity; there is only the screaming bedlam of sleep.

Of all the questions I'm asked, the most difficult is, "How does it feel to be famous?" Since I'm not, that question always catches me with a feeling of surrealism....I've got three kids and I've changed all their diapers, and when it's two o'clock in the morning and you're changing something that's sort of special delivery with one eye open and one eye shut you don't feel famous.

The world was the Overlook Hotel, where the party never ended. Where the dead were alive forever.

I'd like to learn French well enough to write in that language.

It wasn't just love that held people together. There was secrets, and the price you paid to keep them.

Only two things happen to writers when they die: Either their work survives, or it becomes forgotten.