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Battles that last five minutes spawn legends that live a thousand years. And You needn’t die happy when your day comes, but you must die satisfied, for you have lived your life from beginning to end and ka is always served.
You must never draw, he’d said, until you know how many are against you, or you’ve satisfied yourself that you can never know, or you’ve decided it’s your day to die.
“A man who can’t bear to share his habits is a man who needs to quit them.”
I’d have you see them this way not because they have won a great battle—they know better than that, every one of them—but because now they are ka-tet for the last time. The story of their fellowship ends here, on this make-believe street and beneath this artificial sun; the rest of the tale will be short and brutal compared to all that’s gone before. Because when katet breaks, the end always comes quickly. Say sorry.
Damn you, Stephen King. Damn you to hell.
He used to tell me that never’s the word God listens for when he needs a laugh.”
“How does it happen that a writer who’s not even very good—and I can say that, I’ve read four or five of his books—gets to be in charge of the world’s destiny? Or of the entire universe’s?” “If he’s not very good, why didn’t you stop at one?” Mrs. Tassenbaum smiled. “Touché.
Well played, sai King.
Commala-come-Roland, the journey’s nearly done.
Aye, say true.
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.
A fitting end.
