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“Fair is whatever God wants to do.”
Eddie nodded reluctantly. Roland could see him trying to accept what he couldn’t change. Groping for sanity.
Jake reached out and touched the kerchief Callahan wore around his neck, cowboy-style. It was red. Then he put a hand briefly over his left eye. For a moment Callahan didn’t understand, and then he did. The red eye. The Eye of the King.
Because dead was the gift that kept on giving. Dead, like diamonds, was forever.
Roland stood for a moment with his head lowered and his hand on the butt of his gun. When he looked up, he was wearing his own smile. It was handsome and tired and desperate and dangerous. He twirled his whole left hand twice in the air: Let’s go.
But she did not notice the change in color. Except later she’d think: You noticed, all right. Noticed it and blocked it right out. Because too much is too much.
One of Roland’s proverbs occurred to her: You do what you need to, and I’ll do what I need to, and we’ll see who gets the goose.
Was it God that made magic, or was it magic that made God?
The men believed there would always be more men like them to make more machines. None of them foresaw what’s happened. This . . . this universal exhaustion.”
The gunslinger had seen this man die, gunshot and then eaten alive by the carnivorous lobstrosities which lived in the shallow waters of the Western Sea, but here he was again. Because infinite worlds spun on the axle which was the Dark Tower, and here was another of them.
“Don’t you want some water with those, son?” “Nope,” Eddie said, chewing enthusiastically. “Neat’s a treat.”
Might be stale, but it’s a lot staler where there’s none, my mother used to say.
He used to quote a line from some Greek poet. ‘The column of truth has a hole in it.’
The gunslinger said, “I used to think the most terrible thing would be to reach the Dark Tower and find the top room empty. The God of all universes either dead or nonexistent in the first place. But now . . . suppose there is someone there, Eddie? Someone in charge who turns out to be . . .” He couldn’t finish.
Just don’t strike me dead, Eddie thought, and turned west. I need to get back to my sweetheart, so please don’t strike me dead, whoever or whatever you are. “Man, I’m so scared,” he said. Roland reached out and briefly grasped his hand.
Because this is the key world. In this one you never get a chance to whittle a little more if the key doesn’t turn. In this world I don’t think there are any do-overs.”
“I’m not laughing at you guys,” King said. “It’s actually against my religion to laugh at men who are toting guns.
went swerving past with a passenger yelling something out at them. It probably wasn’t happy birthday.
The key came out of Locker 883 after Jake had inserted nine of the tokens, but he went on putting them in until all twenty-seven were gone. At this point the small glass porthole under the locker-number turned red.
19-9-9
Callahan spared one final glance at the twin towers of the World Trade Center before getting in himself. “It’s good to go until June of two thousand and two, unless someone breaks in and steals it.” “Or if the building falls down on top of it,” Jake said.
In the Land of Memory, the time is always Now. In the Kingdom of Ago, the clocks tick . . . but their hands never move. There is an Unfound Door (O lost) and memory is the key which opens it.
Susannah supposed there might have been a version of the Dixie Pig here since the time of the Dutch, they who had bought off the Indians with sacks of beads and planted their murderous Christian beliefs ever so much more deeply than their flag.
“Fuck you!” Susannah snarled back. “Fuk Yu does not register as a valid name for a non-Asian,” said the pleasant female voice. “We detect hostility, and apologize in advance for the following procedure.”
lmao
