Needful Things

by Stephen King

So Brian carefully re-folded his daydream along its creases, as a man will carefully fold a well-read and much-valued document, and tucked it on the shelf at the back of his mind where it belonged.

There were people who lied for gain, people who lied from pain, people who lied simply because the concept of telling the truth was utterly alien to them . . . and then there were people who lied because they were waiting for it to be time to tell the truth.

Love might make the world go round, but she was convinced it was the cries of the badly wounded and deeply afflicted which spun the universe on the great glass pole of its axis.

Leland Gaunt stood at the window and looked at the town below, spread out, defenseless, in all that lovely darkness.

‘In a world where there’s a Michael Jackson and an asshole like Axl Rose, anything’s possible, I suppose,’

‘Humanity! So noble! So willing to sacrifice the other fellow!’

‘I don’t know which makes me sicker – a crying woman or a laughing man.

‘You’re disgusting, Ace,’ Mr Gaunt said. ‘I like that in a person.’

Everyone loves something for nothing . . . even if it costs everything.