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

by Stephen King

Marry in haste, repent at leisure, the old folken say.”

What do I say now? Sometimes, Tim thought, only the bald truth would do. “Get me off this fucking island!” he shouted.

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.

I like the whores young and the whiskey old.”