Revival

by Stephen King

But writing is a wonderful and terrible thing. It opens deep wells of memory that were previously capped.

We

never know. Any day could be the day we go down, and we never know.

Question: Death, where is thy sting? Answer: Every-fucking-where.

Home is where they want you to stay longer. • • •

This is how we bring about our own damnation, you know—by ignoring the voice that begs us to stop. To stop while there’s still time.

Here it is! What all your crusades and murder in the name of God were for! Here it is, and how do you like it?

You remember Cara Lynne, don’t you? My great-niece?

And given what may come after death, I want to live as long as possible. There’s something else, too. I feel—rightly or wrongly—that I have a lot to atone for.