Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Stephen King

Quote by Stephen King

Work

The Waste Lands

The Waste Lands is a sweeping tale of exploration and discovery in a fantastical world, where characters embark on a perilous journey through treacherous landscapes and encounter mythical creatures. 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

You May Also Like

“When's the last time Andrew saw fit to talk to you at all?" Neil asked. "Last Wednesday," Aaron reminded him. It wasn't the answer Neil expected. He'd laid the groundwork for Aaron and Andrew's therapy and it'd been weeks since Aaron first muscled his way into one of Andrew's sessions, but this was the first hint that they were actually doing something real with that time. Aaron's awful attitude that first Wednesday was the only reaction they'd ever gotten from the brothers. Neil had assumed the two were still getting nowhere fast. Triumph was a quiet, smoldering heat in his stomach.”

HealingForgivenessTriumphAndrew MinyardAaron Minyard
Book:The King's Men
Create image

“We choose our truths the way we choose our gods, single-sightedly, single-mindedly, no other way to feel or see or think. We lock ourselves into our ways, and click all the truths to one. We put our truths together in pieces, but you use nails and I use glue. You mend with staples. I mend with screws. You stitch what I would bandage. Your truth may not look like mine, but that is not what matters. What matters is this: You can look at a scar and see hurt, or you can look at a scar and see healing. Try to understand.”

Healing
Book:A Gracious Plenty
Create image

“The fear of death haunted me for a year. I cried whenever anyone dropped a glass or broke a picture. But even then that passed, I was left with a sadness that couldn't be rubbed off. It wasn't that something had happened. It was worse: I'd become aware of what had been with me all along without my notice. I dragged this new awareness around like a stone tied to my ankle. Wherever I went, it followed. I used to make up little sad songs in my head. I eulogized the falling leaves. I imagined my death in a hundred different ways, but the funeral was always the same: from somewhere in my imagination, out rolled a red carpet. Because after every secret death I died, my greatness was always discovered.”

Death
Book:The History of Love
Create image