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

by Stephen King

You are dying. Your own mystery—the only one that really matters to any man or woman in the end—approaches.

“God pisses down the back of your neck every day but only drowns you once,”

Fault always lies in the same place, my fine babies: with him weak enough to lay blame.

“Donald Duck must have walked over my grave.”

the difference between them was much wider than color; they were speaking to each other from separate islands. The water between was time.

Might as well try to drink the ocean with a spoon as argue with a lover.

I told you so. This is what romance gets you—a noose around your neck and a crazy woman with two guns somewhere behind you.

“We all die in time,” the gunslinger said. “It’s not just the world that moves on.”