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jslowik9 's review for:
Four Past Midnight
by Stephen King
The Langoliers
Pg xv- I still believe in the resilience of the human heart and the essential validity of love; I still believe that connections between people can be made and that the spirits which inhabit us sometimes touch. I still believe that the cost of those connections is horribly, outrageously high... and I still believe that the value received far outweighs the price which must be paid. I still believe, I suppose, in the coming of the White and in finding a place to make a stand... and defending that place to the death. They are old-fashioned concerns and beliefs, but I would be a liar if I did not admit that I still own them. And that they still own me.
Pg 5- Factual mistakes usually result from a failure to ask the right questions and not from erroneous information.
Pg 42- That was when Brian felt something—something like a bolt—starting to give way deep inside his mind. That was when he felt his entire structure of organized thought begin to slide slowly toward some dark abyss.
Pg 66- He began to tear a strip of paper from the side of the glossy ad. The long, slow ripping sound was at the same time excruciating and exquisitely calming.
Pg 71- Bethany shrugged and offered Laurel a tired smile which was oddly winning.
Pg 72- His heart was beating slowly and heavily in his chest, like a funeral drum.
Pg 74- Don Gaffney looked toward the man in the crew-neck jersey again and felt a sudden, almost overmastering urge to rip the flight magazine out of the weird son of a bitch’s hands and begin whacking him with it.
Pg 78- A wave of relief rushed over him like a cooling hand.
Pg 115- “You Americans are too foolish not to love.” - Nick Hopewell
Pg 115- “Never believe a writer. Listen to them, by all means, but never believe them.” - Bob Jenkins
Pg 116- “I thought it was really brave,” she said, looking up at him with eyes which suggested she believed Albert Kaussner must shit diamonds from a platinum asshole.
Pg 154- His mind seized on this idea the way a shipwreck victim seizes upon a piece of wreckage—anything that still floats, even if it’s only the shithouse door, is a prize to be cherished.
Pg 156- Calm filled his mind like cool blue water.
Pg 162- ...not that they were likely to see him, anyway. It was as black as an elephant’s asshole in here.
Pg 165- He could smell himself. Even in the dead air he could smell himself. It was the rancid monkeypiss aroma of fear.
Secret Window, Secret Garden
Pg 269- “He walked with his hands stuffed into his pockets, trying to let the lake’s quiet work through his skin and calm him down, as it had always done before.”
Pg 270- “Of course I’m all right,” he’d said, speaking as carefully as a drunk trying to convince people that he’s sober.
Pg 309- He supposed that, without its great capacity for self-deception, the human race would be even crazier than it already was.
The Library Policeman
Pg 405- ...the fears of childhood have a hideous persistence.
Pg 422- “She borrows a great many romance novels- Jennifer Blake, Rosemary Rogers, Paul Sheldon, people like that.” [Misery]
Pg 431- “I have never heard an Ozzy Osborne record and have no desire to do so, nor to read a novel by Robert McCammon, Stephen King, or V.C. Andrews.”
Pg 434- He had no wish to incur a second dose of Ardelia Lortz’s anger—the first had been enough, and he’d had a feeling her dial hadn’t been turned up to anything near full volume.
Pg 436- It was good just to find out you still had a heart, that the ordinary routine of ordinary days hadn’t worn it away, but it was even better to find it could still speak through your mouth.
Pg 468- He didn’t believe he was crazy, not at all, but he was beginning to feel that if he didn’t get this thing sorted out, he might go crazy. It was as if he had uncovered a hole in the middle of his head, one so deep you could throw things into it and not hear a splash no matter how big the things you threw were or how long you waited with your ear cocked for the sound.
Pg 584- Naomi screamed. The wind, still rising, screamed back.
Pg 585- “Hurry up! I can smell her goddamn perfume everywhere!” Sam found the idea that the smell of Ardelia’s perfume might somehow precede her materialization obscurely terrifying.
Pg 608- The tale of the irrational is the sanest way I know of expressing the world in which I live. These tales have served me as instruments of both metaphor and morality; they continue to offer the best window I know on the question of how we do or do not behave on the basis of our perceptions. I have explored these questions as well as I can within the limits of my talent and intelligence. I am no one’s National Book Award or Pulitzer Prize winner, but I’m serious, all right. If you don’t believe anything else, believe this: when I take you by your hand and begin to talk, my friend, I believe every word I say.
Pg 623- If any of them truly believed in the invisible world it was Megan, who couldn’t get enough of walking corpses, living dolls, and cars that came to life and ran down people they didn’t like. [Christine]
Pg 646- Just another goddamn gadget, Pop thought, opening the door and going in. World’s dying of em. But he was one of those people—world’s dying of em—not at all above using what he disparaged if it proved expedient.
Pg 656- He looked at the strained expression of incredulity on his son’s face and his own strained look broke. He laughed and clapped his son on the shoulder. “It’s only the world, Kev,” he said, “It kills us all in the end, anyhow.”
Pg 696- No; you had to practice those goddamned tongue-twister names until they came out as smooth as shit from a waxed asshole.
Pg 702- Pop suddenly found himself remembering Joe Camber’s Saint Bernard, Cujo—the one who had killed Joe and that old tosspot Gary Pervier and Big George Bannerman. The dog had gone rabid. It had trapped a woman and a young boy in their car up there at Camber’s place and after two or three days the kid had died. [Cujo]
Pg 7