Book: The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger. Page 1

But the stars were indifferent to the groans of hand, as they are indifferent to human wars, crucifixion, resurrection from the dead.

The wind moaned. Capricious gusts and enough heady smoke and a swirling, fan / stream / envelop arrow. And sometimes the smoke touched him. They did dreams, just as barely perceptible irritation creates the pearl in the oyster shell.

Beware the one who pretends to be lame.

What trap beats trap love?

Only the dead speak forth a true prophecy.

He would be able to handle anything except his own madness.

- Okay. Come on. I always, you know, I was wondering what the world looks like if you rolled your neck and head backwards and head down.

He is still too small to be able to hate itself, but the beginning has already been made: we just have time to this bitter seed has borne bitter fruit.

Murder has always been, the way of the world. But that didn't help. Yes, there are a lot of bad. Murder, violence and heinous acts. And all this in the name of good. Good, dipped in the blood.

He's dead. Like everyone here. Like you. As all of you.

It was eye forever turned inward, in a sterile, watered-down hell beyond the control of the consciousness of dreams, dreams unleashed, risen out of the stinking quagmire of the subconscious.

He was never afraid, and only now was scared (first time in my life) that will start itself to hate. And most likely it will.

If so, go. There are other worlds, not just this one.

Fields, forests, rivers, morning mist... Mother, I remember, always said that only beautiful, but still not perfect... only three things in the world lovely really: order, love and light.