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

by Stephen King

Thy ax, thy lucky coin, thy plot, and thy place,

So Tim would go off to sleep, knowing he was loved, and knowing he had a place in the world, and listening to the night wind

“A kingdom filled with toy-loving idiots. It has no part in our palaver.

JOHN 3:16 FEER HELL HOPE FOR HEVEN MAN JESUS

John 3:16

“The Guardian of the Beam at this end is Aslan,”

Aslan

It was as if the storm had blown tiny holes in the world above the world, and turned it into a sieve. Shining through was all the brilliant mystery of creation.

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.

So cried his child’s heart, and then his child’s heart died a little. For that is also the way of the world.

Friendly birds twitter news in our ears, if you take my meaning.”

I traced them until the paper fell apart and I let the wind take it—the wind that blows through time’s keyhole, ye ken. In the end, the wind takes everything, doesn’t it? And why not? Why other? If the sweetness of our lives did not depart, there would be no sweetness at all.

And so it happened, once upon a bye.” “Long before my grandfather’s grandfather was born,” Jake said in a low voice.

“Luck’s the word those with poor hearts use for ka,