Duma Key

by Stephen King

It looked at my most secret thoughts, at the place where anger surpasses rage and becomes homicide. It saw . . . then bit down. The way a woman would bite into a plum. I will never forget the sensation.

Time had been canceled and memory was a ghost.

“Full fathom five thy father lies . . . those are pearls that were his eyes.”

Perse’s version of digging through the wall of her cell with a sharpened spoonhandle?

Meta

Ilse Marie Freemantle. I remember her well.

“Listen to me, Edgar, and listen good. There are actually five acts, and not just in American lives—in every life that’s fully lived. Same as in every Shakespearian play, tragedy and comedy alike. Because that’s what our lives are made up of—comedy and tragedy.”

“Do the day, Edgar!” he cried. People turned to look, startled. “And let the day do you!” I called back.

I thought there would be time, but we always think stuff like that, don’t we? We fool ourselves so much we could do it for a living.

Know when you’re finished, and when you are, put your pencil or your paintbrush down. All the rest is only life. February 2006–June 2007