Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower, #6)

by Stephen King

dead was the gift that kept on giving. Dead, like diamonds, was forever.

When he looked up, he was wearing his own smile. It was handsome and tired and desperate and dangerous.

I got no use for baseballs autographed by Yankees. That ’us signed when Ruth was still wearing a Red Sox…”

He drank, Roland thought, like a man with a gift for it.

“No?” “I think telling stories is like pushing something. Pushing against uncreation itself, maybe. And one day while you were doing that, you felt something pushing back.”