The Stand

by Stephen King

love is what moves the world, I’ve always thought … it is the only thing which allows men and women to stand in a world where gravity always seems to want to pull them down

… bring them low … and make them crawl …

Old Orchard Beach in July, all crowded with people, most of them from Quebec.

Love didn’t grow very well in a place where there was only fear, just as plants didn’t grow very well in a place where it was always dark.

Stu joined in on the chorus, his voice not as good as Tom’s but mixing well enough to suit the two of them, and the old sweet hymn drifted back and forth in the deep cathedral silence of Christmas morning: “Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel … Christ is born in Israel …” “That’s the only part of it I can remember,” Tom said a little guiltily as their voices drifted away. “It was fine,” Stu said. The tears were close again. It would not take much to set him off, and that would upset Tom. He swallowed them back. “We ought to get going. Daylight’s wasting.” “Sure.” He looked at Stu, who was taking down his shelter half. “It’s the best Christmas I ever had, Stu.”