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“It always comes back to the same thing: we’re farmers, most of us. Strong when our hands are in the soil, weak when they ain’t.
“No one ever does live happily ever after, but we leave the children to find that out for themselves, don’t we?”
“If,” Roland said. “An old teacher of mine used to call it the only word a thousand letters long.”
We spread the time as we can, but in the end the world takes it all back.”
It’s a wholly illogical but nonetheless powerful belief that things will change for the better in a new place; that the urge to self-destruct will magically disappear.
“Do’ee say the world will end in fire or in ice, gunslinger?” Roland considered this. “Neither,” he said at last. “I think in darkness.”
“Your Man Jesus seems to me a bit of a son of a bitch when it comes to women,” Roland said. “Was He ever married?” The corners of Callahan’s mouth quirked. “No,” he said, “but His girlfriend was a whore.” “Well,” Roland said, “that’s a start.”
“My Da’ and Cuthbert’s Da’ used to have a rule between em: first the smiles, then the lies. Last comes gunfire.”
Roland nodded. “And the shooting will happen so fast and be over so quick that you’ll wonder what all the planning and palaver was for, when in the end it always comes down to the same five minutes’ worth of blood, pain, and stupidity.”
At first everything went according to plan and they called it ka. When things began going wrong and the dying started, they called that ka, too. Ka, the gunslinger could have told them, was often the last thing you had to rise above.
