Christine

by Stephen King

“You can’t leave it there and I hope you know that,” she said with a maddening kind of circularity.

I find that the more I dislike adults, the more apt I am to call them Sir.

Here we go again, Dennis, last time, after this year you got to learn how to be a grown-up. I could hear locker doors crashing closed, could hear the steady ka-chonk, ka-chonk, ka-chonk of linemen hitting the tackling dummies, could hear Marty Bellerman yelling exuberantly, “My ass and your face, Pedersen! Remember that! My ass and your face! It’s easier to tell the fuckin Bobbsey Twins apart!” The dry smell of chalk dust in the classrooms in the Math Wing. The sound of the typewriters from the big secretarial classrooms on the second floor. Mr. Meecham, the principal, giving the announcements at the end of the day in his dry, fussy voice. Lunch outdoors on the bleachers in good weather. A new crop of freshmen looking dorky and lost. And at the end of it all, you march down the aisle in this big purple bathrobe, and that’s it. High school’s over. You are released on an unsuspecting world.

Chalk and typewriters, time is a face on the water

they say that a stiff dick has no conscience, but I tell you now that some cunts have teeth,

I believe that how you lose is a much better index to character than how you win.

he sometimes felt thirty years older than his age—no! more like fifty!—and not a boy at all but some terribly hurt veteran back from an undeclared war.

And if her own family thought she was hard sometimes, it was because they didn’t understand that when you went through hell you came out baked by the fire. And when you had to burn to have your own way, you always wanted to have it.

But of course he wouldn’t. Leaving Christine after he had put so much into her was of course impossible.

Sunk cost fallacy will kill you

His single-minded purpose. His unending fury.

Roland D. Lebay/Roland Deschain