Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption

by Stephen King

If enough people want you to remember something, that can be a pretty powerful persuader.”

They give you life, and that’s what they take—all of it that counts, anyway.

“It’s got a small sharp pick on one end and a flat, blunt hammerhead on the other. I want it because I like rocks.”

Me

In spite of the problems he was having, he was going on with his life. There are thousands who don’t or won’t or can’t, and plenty of them aren’t in prison, either.

“How can you be so obtuse?” Andy said, so low that Chester could barely hear. But he heard the warden just fine. “What? What did you call me?” “Obtuse!” Andy cried. “Is it deliberate?”

Andy called them “millennium sandwiches”—the layers of different material that had built up over a period of decades and centuries.

I’ll tell you what I know and what I think; that’s about all I can do, isn’t it?

Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.

Remember that hope is a good thing, Red, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.

It always comes down to just two choices. Get busy living or get busy dying.

I hope Andy is down there. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.