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Quote by Stephen King

“The lion on the left had advanced all the way to the fence now; its muzzle was touching the boards. It seemed to be grinning at him. Jack backed up another two steps. His head was thudding crazily and he could feel the dry rasp of his breath in his throat. Now the buffalo had moved, circling to the right, behind and around the rabbit. The head was lowered, the green hedge horns pointing at him. The thing was, you couldn't watch all of them. Not all at once.”

Quote by Stephen King

Work

THE SHINING

Stephen King's 'The Shining' is a chilling narrative that delves into the psychological breakdown of Jack Torrance, a man who becomes the winter caretaker of the Overlook Hotel. The novel is set in an isolated, snow-covered hotel that is rumored to be haunted by malevolent spirits. As Jack's sanity begins to unravel, the story explores themes of isolation, mental illness, and the supernatural. The novel is known for its haunting atmosphere and its exploration of the human psyche under extreme duress. more

Author

Stephen King
Stephen King

Stephen King, born on September 21, 1947, is a renowned American author. His works primarily focus on horror, fantasy, and science fiction, and have won him a wide audience. King has received numerous literary awards in the United States, including the Edgar Allan Poe Award and the World Fantasy Award. more

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“Picture a man in his living room. He is standing at a closed window opposite the fireplace and looking out at the dark night. As the fire starts to burn, the images of the objects in the room behind him can be seen reflected dimly in the window. As more logs burn and the fire in the fireplace illuminates the room, the man now sees a vivid reflection of himself and the contents of the room, which appears to be outside the window. As the analogy is applied to intoxication, the window is the window of our senses to the world, the fire is the electrical excitation in the brain, and the logs are the drugs that dampen (sedatives) or stoke up (stimulants and hallucinogens) the fire. When the fire is stifled, the man will see very little. But when the fire burns brightly, the glass will reflect the furniture in the rooms of his mind—his images, memories, dreams, and fantasies. The brighter the fire—the more [drugs] in the brain—the more vivid the reflections become until some users step through the window, like Alice going through the looking glass, and behave as if the images were real.”

“A good and learned psychotherapist considers and digs into all factors in the context of physical, spiritual, political, and investigation in all dimensions before the decision. Mental disorders, illusions, delusions, and such terms may not always be physical issues; they can be real; they can be the process of spirituality; they can be the result of chemicals as a patient feels and realizes rather than mental or physical. Most psychotherapists are just like robots and professional bookworms and have no other subjects’ knowledge. Whether delusion, illusion, hallucination, or mirage that carries a similar context as there is truth and also no truth: If you exemplify mirage, no doubt when a layer of water appears in a desert or on a warm road and causes the light to refract through the heat of the sun is truth, but a layer of water is truthless. Light exists, not a layer of water; it is a lack of knowledge, not a mental issue. Psychotherapists cannot treat a lack of knowledge with drugs. If they remain unable to understand it, of course, they also have a lack of knowledge.”

“There was a terrible disparity between the speed at which he was moving and the quiet immobility of that line, but he insisted. So as not to go. To stay behind. To overflow, take root in what would stay here. A centipede can, cut into pieces. Each part can walk by itself. Still more, each leg flexes, lying alone on the floor. There was a screaming sound in each ear, and the difference between the two pitches was so narrow that the vibration was like running his fingernail along the edge of a new dime. In front of his eyes clusters of round spots were being born; they were the little spots that result when a photographic cut in a newspaper is enlarged many times. Lighter agglomerations, darker masses, small regions of uninhabited space here and there. Each spot slowly took on a third dimension. He tried to recoil from the expanding globules of matter. Did he cry out? Could he move? The thin distance between the two high screams became narrower, they were almost one; now the difference was the edge of a razor blade, poised against the tips of each finger. The fingers were to be sliced longitudinally.”

“The Final Enigma (Sonnet 2002) Consciousness contains the cosmos, cosmos contains consciousness, all rooted in specks of jelly, firing in frenzy inside our head. When neurons fire, we see light, lack of oxygen conjures a tunnel. Nearing death, hallucinogens kick in, thus we experience kingdoms mythical. Neurons forge the fabric of reality, within neurons our paradise is born. Neurons concoct our fabled purgatory, thus our strong beliefs rule perception. Neurons are the birthplace of order, within neurons order comes to end. Neurons are the root of mindlessness, as well as the instrument of mend.”