The Wind Through the Keyhole (The Dark Tower, #4.5)

by Stephen King

Time was a face on the water, and like the great river before them, it did nothing but flow.

There’s nothing like stories on a windy night when folks have found a warm place in a cold world.”

“An it,” she said. “A monster from the Deep Cracks,

Horror’s a worm that needs to be coughed out before it breeds.

“Stories take a person away. If they’re good ones, that is.

“A person’s never too old for stories, Bill. Man and boy, girl and woman, never too old. We live for them.”

‘Look not long at what’s offered, for every precious thing has wings and may fly away.’”

Women were different. They had larger hearts.

“What’s America?” “A kingdom filled with toy-loving idiots.

in the proper hand, any object can be magic.

He was so tired of crying.

Time is a keyhole, he thought as he looked up at the stars. Yes, I think so. We sometimes bend and peer through it. And the wind we feel on our cheeks when we do—the wind that blows through the keyhole—is the breath of all the living universe.

It was not fair, it was not fair, it was not fair. So cried his child’s heart, and then his child’s heart died a little. For that is also the way of the world.

If the sweetness of our lives did not depart, there would be no sweetness at all.