The Shining

by Stephen King

For aren’t memories the true ghosts of our lives? Do they not drive all of us to words and acts we regret from time to time?

I believe these stories exist because we sometimes need to create unreal monsters and bogies to stand in for all the things we fear in our real lives:

That truth is that monsters are real, and ghosts are real, too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win.

‘It’s a slang term for the claustrophobic reaction that can occur when people are shut in together over long periods of time. The feeling of claustrophobia is externalized as dislike for the people you happen to be shut in with. In extreme cases it can result in hallucinations and violence – murder has been done over such minor things as a burned meal or an argument about whose turn it is to do the dishes.’

She had never dreamed there could be so much pain in a life when there was nothing physically wrong.

You know, schizoid behavior is a pretty common thing in children. It’s accepted, because all we adults have this unspoken agreement that children are lunatics. They have invisible friends. They may go and sit in the closet when they’re depressed, withdrawing from the world. They attach talismanic importance to a special blanket, or a teddy bear, or a stuffed tiger. They suck their thumbs. When an adult sees things that aren’t there, we consider him ready for the rubber room. When a child says he’s seen a troll in his bedroom or a vampire outside the window, we simply smile indulgently.

Once, during the drinking phase, Wendy had accused him of desiring his own destruction but not possessing the necessary moral fiber to support a fullblown deathwish.

Tough old world, baby. If you’re not bolted together tightly, you’re gonna shake, rattle, and roll before you turn thirty.

Dying was a part of living. You had to keep tuning in to that if you expected to be a whole person. And if the fact of your own death was hard to understand, at least it wasn’t impossible to accept.