Song of Susannah (The Dark Tower, #6)

by Stephen King

“Anger is the most useless emotion,” Henchick intoned, “destructive to the mind and hurtful of the heart.”

“When the King comes and the Tower falls, sai, all such pretty things as yours will be broken. Then there will be darkness and nothing but the howl of Discordia and the cries of the can toi.”

Was it God that made magic, or was it magic that made God?

“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.”

When you came right down to it, how did anyone know they weren’t a character in some writer’s story, or a transient thought in some bus-riding schmoe’s head, or a momentary mote in God’s eye?

“I don’t think he needs to be immortal. I think all he needs to do is write the right story. Because some stories do live forever.”

She understands how being afraid all the time makes one’s friends more precious; how it makes every bite of every meal sweet; how it stretches time until every day seems to last forever, leading on to velvet night,