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Quote by Stephen King

“what comes to mind are the things I learned from my classmates, my friends-what we found funny, writers we loved and hated, drunken walks back to campus from downtown Orono in snowstorms and rainstorms, and talking, talking, talking.”

Quote by Stephen King

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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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“Well, it’s about damn time I got my royal welcome!” Ferd stalked in with his equipment boxes and bundles of fabric. “What’s going on? Where’s my confetti, bitches?” “This isn’t your personal parade, Ferd.” I laughed. “Let’s keep that for your birthday, okay?!” “Fiiine, I guess I can have a birthday every month,” he giggled. “Seriously, why’s everyone standing to attention at the bar? I feel like there’s an interrogation in progress.”

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“Word got out about a mutiny, just stuff overheard in one of our bars, so we took safety measures.” Dante really saved my ass. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, but it wasn’t a sure thing. I didn’t want to rock the boat unnecessarily. Hey, why’re you crying? Why’s she crying?!” “She does that.” Adrian pulled me into a big protective hug. “Thanks, man. But don’t be offended if your guys are watched. I don’t want any sabotage. Are we clear?”

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“Are we starting early?” Barb came strolling into the Library Bar with his usual casual smile. “He isn’t drinking before the work’s done, is he? You’ll regret that.” “Will you shut your hoe mouth?!” Ferd screeched at Barb, and Barb just laughed it off. They really were polar opposites, and yet weirdly the same. “I need to get my Voodoo ready for her big night. I’m a professional!” “Say that with a few less decibels,” I giggled. Man, he could screech.”

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“Jamie, what a lovely surprise,” Charlie smiled as I approached. “Come to take me home?” I ignored him and searched for what I needed. Dragging a small table over, I stepped on it to face him directly—and punched him right in the nose. “You son of a bitch!” I pointed. “You crossed the line, old man!” Wide-eyed, Charlie stepped back, holding his nose. Hopping off the table, I straightened my shirt and made for the exit, only to hear Charlie’s cutesie comment to the people around us.”

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“I slumped in the chair. I'd known it was coming. Absolutely no doubt. You know. I'd been feeling sick about it for weeks. So, why did I now feel even sicker? Love. Not a word for casual use. The life-scarred use the word with extreme caution. If you're lucky, you go through life being held up by people loving you. But you don't know you're being held up. You think you're buoyant. You think the buoyancy came first, the love is a bonus you get for being buoyant. And that can go on for a long time. But then one day, the love isn't there anymore and you're sinking, waving arms and sinking, all the old sources of love gone, the newer ones turn out to be fickle. They move on. No one to hold you up, you're just a skinny boy, all ribs, knees, and feet, out in the deep water, can't touch bottom.”

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