It

by Stephen King

Now he had to go back to being himself, and that was hard—it got harder to do that every year. It was easier to be brave when you were someone else.

You pay for what you get, you own what you pay for . . . and sooner or later whatever you own comes back home to you.”

Ben Hanscom had no sense of being lonely because he had never been anything but.

Ben didn’t give a fuck about the rainbow. He didn’t give a fuck about finding a pot of gold. He would settle for his miserable fat life.

maybe sometimes things didn’t just go wrong and then stop; maybe sometimes they just kept going wronger and wronger until everything was totally fucked up.

We lie best when we lie to ourselves.

when a man writes, he thinks harder