If It Bleeds (Holly Gibney #2)

by Stephen King

clasped his hands between his spread knees. “Craig, I rarely give advice, it’s almost always a waste of breath, but today I’ll give some to you. Henry Thoreau said that we don’t own things; things own us. Every new object—whether it’s a home, a car, a television, or a fancy phone like that one—is something more we must carry on our backs. It makes me think of Jacob Marley telling Scrooge, ‘These are the chains I forged in life.’

you will grasp even at your current age. Films are ephemeral, while books—the good ones—are eternal, or close to it.

The universe is large, he thought. It contains multitudes. It also contains me, and in this moment I am wonderful. I have a right to be wonderful.

She once more thinks of how some force, invisible but strong, seems to be pulling her into this, quietly insisting on parallels and continuations.

“Do you see what I mean?” Barbara takes Holly’s gloved hands. “It was close. It was really, really close.” Yes, Holly thinks, and it was your regard for me that put you there. She embraces her friend in the falling snow. “Sweetheart,” she says, “we’re all close. All the time.”