“You know," King said, "I'm not much good at telling stories. That sounds like a paradox, but it's not; it's the reason I write them down.”

“I'll write this all down for you," I said. "I'll put it in a story." I don't know if that's what he wanted to ask me, but it's something everybody wants--for someone to see the hurt done to them and set it down like it matters.”

“When I write a story, it's not like I'm thinking about what I'm doing”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you," Cookie said. "Amber wants your dad to get a teriyaki machine so she can sing for all the lonely barflies." "I'm a good singer, mom." Only a twelve-year-old could make the word mom sound blasphemous. I leaned into Cookie, "Does she know its not called--?" "No," she whispered. "Are you gonna tell her?" "No. It's much funnier this way.”

“I like a good story well told. That is the reason I am sometimes forced to tell them myself.”

“It's a damn good story. If you have any comments, write them on the back of a check.”