Cell

by Stephen King

“It’s the way I feel about anchovies on pizza,” he said. “I tell myself there’s something disgusting about a combination of cheese, tomato sauce, and dead fish . . . but sometimes that shameful urge comes over me and I can’t stand against it.”

“Can you drive a standard shift?” “I learned on a standard. Can you?” Clay smiled patiently. “I’m straight, Tom. Straight guys know how to drive standards without instruction. It’s instinct with us.”

she was sitting at the foot of the staircase with her head bent, staring at that fucking sneaker like it was the skull of Yorick—but

‘Journeys end in lovers meeting.’

Survival is like love. Both are blind.