The Dark Tower (The Dark Tower, #7)

by Stephen King

Anyone who doesn’t think the imagination can kill is a fool.”

There were no words in it, nor could there have been. Our greatest moments of triumph are always inarticulate.

the burial didn’t take long; the body was far smaller than the heart it had held.

I can stop now, put my pen down, and rest my weary hand (although perhaps not forever; the hand that tells the tales has a mind of its own, and a way of growing restless). I can close my eyes to Mid-World and all that lies beyond Mid-World. Yet some of you who have provided the ears without which no tale can survive a single day are likely not so willing. You are the grim, goal-oriented ones who will not believe that the joy is in the journey rather than the destination no matter how many times it has been proven to you.

I hope most of you know better. Want better. I hope you came to hear the tale, and not just munch your way through the pages to the ending.

Endings are heartless. Ending is just another word for goodbye.

One taste of the old times sets all to rights.