Doctor Sleep (The Shining, #2)

by Stephen King

He reached into the brown paper sack, loosened the cap on the glass container of intoxicating liquid, and smelled the brown smell. That smell could talk, although it only had one thing to say: Hello, old friend.

There came a time when you realized that moving on was pointless. That you took yourself with you wherever you went.

You take yourself with you, wherever you go. He pushed the thought into a mental closet. It was a thing he was good at. There was all sorts of stuff in that closet.

Sleep was nature’s doctor, and right now Dan Torrance felt sick and in need of strong medicine.

We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.

Perhaps kids really did come into the world trailing clouds of glory, as Wordsworth had so confidently proclaimed, but they also shit in their pants until they learned better.

You didn’t get sober to be stupid, Danny. Keep it in mind the next time you start listening to that itty-bitty shitty committee inside your head.

We all have a bottom. Someday you’re going to have to tell somebody about yours. If you don’t, somewhere down the line, you’re going to find yourself in a bar with a drink in your hand.

Because everything that goes around comes around. Maybe it’s luck or maybe it’s fate, but either way, it comes back around.