Wizard and Glass

True love, like any other strong and addicting drug, is boring — once the tale of encounter and discovery is told, kisses quickly grow stale and caresses tiresome… except, of course, to those who share the kisses, who give and take the caresses while every sound and color of the world seems to deepen and brighten around them. As with any other strong drug, true first love is really only interesting to those who have become its prisoners. And, as is true of any other strong and addicting drug, true first love is dangerous.

If it's ka it'll come like a wind, and your plans will stand before it no more than a barn before a cyclone

And now, all these years later, it seemed to him that the most horrible fact of human existence was that broken hearts mended.

At the end of her life she was aware of heat but not pain. She had time to consider his eyes, eyes of that blue which is the color of the sky at first light of the morning. She had time to think of him on the Drop, riding Rusher flat out with his black hair flying back from his temples and his neckerchief rippling; to see him laughing with an ease and freedom he would never find again in the long life which stretched out for him beyond hers, and it was his laughter she took with her as she went out, fleeing the light and heat in to the silkly, consoling dark, calling to him over and over as she went, calling bird and bear and hare and fish.

It's alright to feel fear, but sometimes a very bad idea to show it.

Fools are the only folk on the earth who can absolutely count on getting what they deserve.

Now the two of them rode silently toward town, both lost in their own thoughts. Their way took them past the Delgado house. Roland looked up and saw Susan sitting in her window, a bright vision in the gray light of that fall morning. His heart leaped up and although he didn't know it then, it was how he would remember her most clearly forever after- lovely Susan, the girl in the window. So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little.

Men! She could not understand why so many women feared them. Hadn't the gods made them with the most vulnerable part of their guts hanging right out of their bodies, like a misplaced bit of bowel? Kick them there and they curled up like snails. Caress them there and their brains melted.

Like the scorpion said to the maiden as she lay dying, ‘You knowed I was poison when you picked me up.’

So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little.

Good days and long nights to ya, sai.

I was raised to be polite, but not to suffer bullshit.

See the BEAR of fearsome size! All the WORLD'S within his eyes. TIME grows thin, the past is a riddle; The TOWER awaits you in the middle.

You've called your carelessness love and made a virtue of irresponsibility.

Panic is highly contagious, especially in situations when nothing is known and everything is in flux.

The road, and the mysteries that lie along it, calls out to none as it calls to the young.

Tell him he's wrong. Tell him that even if he's right about waiting, he's right for the wrong reasons, and that makes him all the way wrong.

There's three things ye can do in any situation, girl," her father had told her once. "Ye can decide to do a thing, ye can decide not to do a thing... or ye can decide not to decide." That last, her da had never quite come out and said (he hadn't needed to) was the choice of weaklings and fools.

It's the world's smallest violin, playing 'My Heart Pumps Purple Piss for You'.

But storytelling always changes time. At least it does in my world.

He wanted her, suddenly and completely, with a desperate depth of feeling that felt like sickness. Everything he was and everything he had come for, it seemed, was secondary to her.

The soul of a man such as you can never leave the west.

The devil you knew was always preferable to the devil you didn’t.

If it's ka, it'll come like a wind, and your plans will stand before it no more than a barn before a cyclone.

It starts here. From its field of roses, the Dark Tower cries out in its beast’s voice. Time is a face on the water.

Who can remember the pangs and sweetness of those early years? We remember our first real love no more clearly than the illusions that caused us to rave during a high fever.

Disappointment was never a thing you looked for, but it had a wonderful way of clearing the mind.

At Hartford or New Haven or one of those other places where no one in their right fucking mind would want to live.

Truth was sometimes not the same as reality—this was one of the certainties that lived in the hollow, cavey place at the center of his divided nature.