More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
I know that sometimes it works that way—what you write down sometimes leaves you forever,
My infirmities have crept up like waves which will soon take a child’s abandoned sand castle,
As far as Roland was concerned, God o’ the Cross was just another religion which taught that love and murder were inextricably bound together—that in the end, God always drank blood.
A cat can’t be a hypocrite.
And even when we act for the noblest reasons, the last link of the chain all too often drips with someone’s blood.
It was the human mind’s final great parlor-trick: the perception of eternity in the place where you’d always expected to spend it.
This is probably the single great subject of horror fiction: our need to cope with a mystery that can be understood only with the aid of a hopeful imagination.
