But sorry is the Kool-Aid of human emotions. It's what you say when you spill a cup of coffee or throw a gutter ball when you're bowling with the girls in the league. True sorrow is as rare as true love.
Stephen KingPeople don't get better, they just get smarter. When you get smarter you don't stop pulling wings off flies, you just think of better reasons for doing it. Lots of kids say they feel sorry for Carrie White -- Mostly girls, and that's a laugh, but I bet none of them understand what it's like to be Carrie White, every second of every day. And they don't really care.
Stephen KingAs pessoas estão constantemente a morrer por falta de sono — dizia Wyzer — apesar de o médico legista acabar por escrever 'suicídio', em vez de 'insónia', na linha correspondente à causa da morte.
Stephen KingEnvelhecer não é para fracos, pois não?
Stephen King(...) as afirmações dos cínicos parecem sempre mais plausíveis do que as dos optimistas incorrigíveis.
Stephen KingCome parole ripetute fino a quando diventano senza senso. Ripetete il vostro nome per più di duecento volte, e scoprirete che non siete nessuno.
Stephen KingOn the subject of love at first sight, I’m with the Beatles: I believe that it happens all the time.
Stephen KingOh, I suppose all men of intelligence know how fragile such things as Law and Justice and Civilization really are, but it's not a thing they think of willingly, because it disturbs one's rest and plays hob with one's appetite.
Stephen KingTags: so-true
She was satisfied with the answer God had given Moses from the burning bush when Moses had seen fit to question. Who are you? Mose asks, and God comes back from that bush just as pert as you like: I Am, Who I AM. In other words, Mose, stop beatin around this here bush and get your old ass in gear.
Stephen KingTags: humor god mother-abagail
Who is that trip-trapping upon my bridge?'
Miss Davies spoke in the low, growling tones of the troll in the story. Some of the little ones covered their mouths and giggled, but most only watched her solemnly, accepting the
voice of the troll as they accepted the voices of their dreams, and their grave eyes reflected the eternal fascination of the fairy tale: would the monster be bested . . . or would it feed?
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