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

by Stephen King

The deck’s still moving, the cards still shuffle

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

But for the most part, Roland was appalled by the place. In a place that promised alchemy but dealt more in perfume than potion, was it any wonder that wonder had run out?

In matters of the Tower, fate became a thing as merciful as the lighter which had saved his life and as painful as the fire the miracle had ignited. Like the wheels of the oncoming train, it followed a course both logical and crushingly brutal, a course against which only steel and sweetness could stand.