The Drawing of the Three (The Dark Tower #2)

by Stephen King

“You see this ’Cimi? For every mother who ever cursed God for her child dead in the road, for every father who ever cursed the man who sent him away from the factory with no job, for every child who was ever born to pain and asked why, this is the answer. Our lives are like these things I build. Sometimes they fall down for a reason, sometimes they fall down for no reason at all.”

If he had known how, he would have said: I looked at what he built, and to me it explained the stars.

And the newest wonder was simply that for these people, wonder had run out: here, in a place of miracles, he saw only dull faces and plodding bodies.

In a place that promised alchemy but dealt more in perfume than potion, was it any wonder that wonder had run out?

The gun had been well cared for. Its aim was true. Remembering the podgy, underexercised looks of the gunslingers he had taken these weapons from, it seemed that they cared better for the weapons they wore than for the weapons they were.

“Everything there is,” the gunslinger said calmly. “We are going to go, Eddie. We are going

to fight. We are going to be hurt. And in the end we will stand.”

“Even the damned love,”