Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower, #6)

by Stephen King

He supposed it took a few years to become fully invested in the Manni brand of extravagant weirdness; in time Lewis and Thonnie would get there, but they hadn’t made it much past peculiar as yet.

all you imagined, no matter how wild it might seem, was no more than a disguised version of what you already knew.

You’re in a version of New York where a single hamburger might cost as much as a dollar, crazy as that sounds.

“You doom yourselves, Susannah. You seem positively bent on it, and the root is always the same: your faith fails you, and you replace it with rational thought. But there is no love in thought, nothing that lasts in deduction, only death in rationalism.”

Commala-come-eight! The hour groweth late! No matter what the shade ya cast You’re in the hands of fate.

“Big talk from a man who isn’t even wearing socks,”

To Eddie, King’s house said money—some, at least. God knew what the clothes said.

“I’m not laughing at you guys,” King said. “It’s actually against my religion to laugh at men who are toting guns.

“Dad-a-jum, dad-a-jingers, goddam lobsters bit off your fingers,”

“I suppose it’s a common enough name, isn’t it? Probably there are normal Stephen Kings all over the United States who wish he’d just . . . I don’t know . . . give it a rest.”

What have I done was a terrible question. What else could I have done was perhaps even worse.

people saying things to me that were so nice I had to check to make sure I wasn’t dead!