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I’d know it when it passed me on the street.
my pockets were empty, but my head was full of things I wanted to say and my heart was full of stories I wanted to tell.
too big for your britches, how are you gonna fill ’em when you grow up?
To know, I have to write.
Water if God willed it,
“Do you believe in an afterlife?” the gunslinger asked him as Brown dropped three ears of hot corn onto his plate. Brown nodded. “I think this is it.”
why bother to go on at all? Why, if he had become what he pursued?
The eyes of his mates had turned ugly and hostile. He would probably pay for having spoken up in kindness.
she might have been pretty when she started out, but the world had moved on since then.
never overcoming the wind but sometimes seeming to challenge it.
Because, if given a knife and a hand in which to hold it, the mind would eventually eat itself.
Allie sighed. It was an old, yellow sound, like turning pages.
Prayers and garbled bits of scripture flew from her lips.
the gunslinger’s bullet took him in the back of the head. “Yowp!” the man cried, and fell over. It was Tull’s final word on the business.
The wind walked restlessly, told its tale to no one.
It was a matter of pride. A gunslinger knows pride, that invisible bone that keeps the neck stiff.
“Don’t feel so sorry for yourself. Make do.”
Had it exploded, in that moment he would have rejoiced at the destruction of his talented hand, for its only true talent was murder.
He is too young to have learned to hate himself yet, but that seed is already there; given time, it will grow, and bear bitter fruit.
He wonders if he’ll be late for school.
It was a thing as alien to this place and time as true love, and yet as concrete as a Judgment,
Was there ever a trap to match the trap of love?
His words were ended by the sound an exploding pineknot makes on the hearth in the cold heart of a winter night.
But Jake hadn’t been able to hide the wildness in his eyes, which were white and starey, the eyes of a horse scenting water and held back from bolting only by the tenuous chain of its master’s mind; like a horse at the point
“Would you kill all your answers so easily, gunslinger?”
No one ever really pays for betrayal in silver, he thought. The price of any betrayal always comes due in flesh.
They had discovered one could grow as hungry for light as for food.
The earth drew in its breath in the summer of the coming eclipse.
“I never trained David. I friended him. The key.”
that half-empathy, half-telepathy they called the touch.
“Sure. But I know what I am to you.” “And what is that?” the gunslinger asked, tightly. “A poker chip.”
The Slow Mutants yanked on him like a wishbone. The wish would undoubtedly be to dine.
as if, should all else fail, there was the possibility of flight.
the darkness under the mountains a mere smudge on the face of Light.
“I ought to kill you. You need killing.” His hands had dropped to the worn butts of his guns. “Those do not open doors, gunslinger;
