Revival

by Stephen King

But sometimes a person who fits none of these categories comes into your life. This is the joker who pops out of the deck at odd intervals over the years, often during a moment of crisis. In the movies this sort of character is known as the fifth business, or the change agent.

When you want to feel better, call something a piece of shit. It usually works.

Selective memory is one of the chief sins of the old, and I don’t have time for it.

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

“Frightened people live in their own special hell. You could say they make it themselves—like Con manufactured his muteness—but they can’t help it. It’s the way they’re built. They deserve sympathy and compassion.”

He shrugged and offered me the most useful advice I ever got as a musician: When in doubt, lay out.

I think most people who have suffered great losses in their lives—great tragedies—come to a crossroads. Maybe not right then, but when the shock wears off. It may be months later; it may be years. They either expand as a result of their experience, or they contract. If that sounds New Age-y—and I suppose it does—I don’t apologize. I know what I’m talking about.

Children learn much more by mute example than by spoken rules, or so it seems to me.

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.

At the heart of every established religion is one sacred mystery that supports belief and induces fidelity, even to the point of martyrdom. Did he want to know what lay beyond death’s door? Yes. But what he wanted more—I believe this with all my heart—was to violate that mystery. To drag it into the light and hold it up, screaming 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?