The Long Walk

by Stephen King

But of course it had hurt. It had hurt before, in the worst, rupturing way, knowing there would be no more you but the universe would roll on just the same, unharmed and unhampered.

Garraty thought that memories were like a line drawn in the dirt. The further back you went the scuffier and harder to see that line got. Until finally there was nothing but smooth sand and the black hole of nothingness that you came out of.

“Sure they’re animals. You think you just found out a new principle?

They’re animals, all right. But why are you so goddam sure that makes us human beings?”

the longer you went without speaking, the harder it gets to break the silence.

“The reason all of this is so horrible,” McVries said, “is because it’s just trivial. You know? We’ve sold ourselves and traded our souls on trivialities. Olson, he was trivial. He was magnificent, too, but those things aren’t mutually exclusive. He was magnificent and trivial. Either way, or both, he died like a bug under a microscope.”

“You sound like you’ve got nothing to lose,” he said. “That’s right,” Stebbins said jovially. “None of us really has anything to lose. That makes it easier to give away.”

At least there had been fewer firecrackers today. The rain had put a stop to that happy bullshit.