“Worlds which had trembled for a moment in their orbits now steadied, and in one of those worlds, in a desert that was the apotheosis of all deserts, a man named Roland turned over in his bedroll and slept easily once again beneath the alien constellations.”

“The desert was the apotheosis of all deserts, huge, standing to the sky for what looked like eternity in all directions. It was white and blinding and waterless and without feature save for the faint, cloudy haze of the mountains which sketched themselves on the horizon and the devil-grass which brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death. An occasional tombstone sign pointed the way, for once the drifted track that cut its way through the thick crust of alkali had been a highway. Coaches and buckas had followed it. The world had moved on since then. The world had emptied.”

“He grasped the knob. It was engraved with a wild rosewound around a revolver, one of those great old guns from hisfather and now lost forever.Yet it will be yours again, whispered the voice of the Towerand the voice of the roses—these voices were now one.What do you mean ?To this there was no answer, but the knob turned beneathhis hand, and perhaps that was an answer. Roland opened thedoor at the top of the Dark Tower.He saw and understood at once, the knowledge fallingupon him in a hammerblow, hot as the sun of the desert thatwas the apotheosis of all deserts. How many times had heclimbed these stairs only to find himself peeled back, curvedback, turned back? Not to the beginning (when things mighthave been changed and time's curse lifted), but to that momentin the Mohaine Desert when he had finally understood that histhoughtless, questionless quest would ultimately succeed? Howmany times had he traveled a loop like the one in the clipthat had once pinched off his navel, his own tet-ka can Gan?How many times would he travel it?"Oh, no!" he screamed. "Please, not again! Have pity! Havemercy!"The hands pulled him forward regardless. The hands of theTower knew no mercy.They were the hands of Gan, the hands of ka, and theyknew no mercy.”

“Once again there was the desert, and that only.”

“The Tower. He would come to the Dark Tower and there he would sing their names; there he would sing their names; there he would sing all their names. The sun stained the east a dusky rose, and at last Roland, no longer the last gunslinger but one of the last three, slept and dreamed his angry dreams through which there ran only that one soothing blue thread: There I will sing all their names!”

“Jamie DeCurry had once proclaimed that Roland could shoot blindfolded, because he had eyes in his fingers.”

“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.”