Stephen King‘s formula for learning to write well is:
„Read and write four to six hours a day. If you cannot find the time for that, you can’t expect to become a good writer.“
He sets out each day with a quota of 2000 words and will not stop writing until it is met.
He also has a simple definition for talent in writing:
„If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.“
Almost like he is.
Alone. Yes, that’s the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn’t hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.
Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.
Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman’s got to hold on to.
There’s no bitch on earth like a mother frightened for her kids.
Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.
The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them – words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.
Hearts can break. Yes, hearts can break. Sometimes I think it would be better if we died when they did, but we don’t.
Remember, Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
Humor is almost always anger with its make-up on.
We lie best when we lie to ourselves.
When all else fails, give up and go to the library.
Only enemies speak the truth; friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty.
Show me a man or a woman alone and I’ll show you a saint. Give me two and they’ll fall in love. Give me three and they’ll invent the charming thing we call ‘society’. Give me four and they’ll build a pyramid. Give me five and they’ll make one an outcast. Give me six and they’ll reinvent prejudice. Give me seven and in seven years they’ll reinvent warfare. Man may have been made in the image of God, but human society was made in the image of His opposite number, and is always trying to get back home.
No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.
Maybe there aren’t any such things as good friends or bad friends – maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you’re hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they’re always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for too, if that’s what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.
And will I tell you that these three lived happily ever after? I will not, for no one ever does. But there was happiness. And they did live.
It was the possibility of darkness that made the day seem so bright.
There’a a phrase, „the elephant in the living room“, which purports to describe what it’s like to live with a drug addict, an alcoholic, an abuser. People outside such relationships will sometimes ask, „How could you let such a business go on for so many years? Didn’t you see the elephant in the living room?“ And it’s so hard for anyone living in a more normal situation to understand the answer that comes closest to the truth; „I’m sorry, but it was there when I moved in. I didn’t know it was an elephant; I thought it was part of the furniture.“ There comes an aha-moment for some folks – the lucky ones – when they suddenly recognize the difference.
Time takes it all whether you want it to or not, time takes it all. Time bares it away, and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.
Life isn’t a support system for art. It’s the other way around.
People who try hard to do the right thing always seem mad.
Sometimes there is absolutely no difference at all between salvation and damnation.
The mind can calculate, but the spirit yearns, and the heart knows what the heart knows.
It’s strange how pain marks our faces, and makes us look like family.
People don’t get better, they just get smarter. When you get smarter you don’t stop pulling the wings off flies, you just think of better reasons for doing it.
I’m rightly tired of the pain I hear and feel, boss. I’m tired of bein on the road, lonely as a robin in the rain. Not never havin no buddy to go on with or tell me where we’s comin from or goin to or why. I’m tired of people bein ugly to each other. It feels like pieces of glass in my head. I’m tired of all the times I’ve wanted to help and couldn’t. I’m tired of bein in the dark. Mostly it’s the pain. There’s too much. If I could end it, I would. But I can’t.
A coward judges all he sees by what he is.
Stupidity is one of the two things we see most clearly in retrospect. The other is missed chances.
If I have to spend time in purgatory before going to one place or the other, I guess I’ll be all right as long as there’s a lending library.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. When you find something at which you have talent, you do that thing (what ever it is) until your fingers bleed or your eyes pop out of your head.
Quiet people have the loudest minds.
Some things were better lost than found.
I believe most people are essentially good. I know that I am. It’s you I’m not entirely sure of.
Pride, that invisible bone that keeps the neck stiff.