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.”

The stories we hear in childhood are the ones we remember all our lives.

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.

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