Zitate und Sprüche von Stephen King (Seite 2)

What can be done when you’re eleven can often never be done again.

Maybe there aren't any such things as good friends or bad friends - maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you're hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they're always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for too, if that's what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.

You can't be careful on a skateboard.

Calling it a simple schoolgirl crush was like saying a Rolls-Royce was a vehicle with four wheels, something like a hay-wagon. She did not giggle wildly and blush when she saw him, nor did she chalk his name on trees or write it on the walls of the Kissing Bridge. She simply lived with his face in her heart all the time, a kind of sweet, hurtful ache. She would have died for him.

Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work.

Every book you pick up has its own lesson or lessons, and quite often the bad books have more to teach than the good ones.

At this point his dream stuttered; it caught in his mind like a bone in a throat.

Ninety-five percent of people who walk the earth are simply inert. One percent are saints, and one percent are a-sholes. The other three percent are people who do what they say they can do.

Never's the word God listens for when he needs a laugh.

A coward judges all he sees by what he is.

And so will the world end, I think, a victim of love rather than hate. For love's ever been the more destructive weapon.

What I'm saying is that I'm trying to find rational reasons to explain irrational feelings, and that's never a good sign.

As for the end of the universe… I say let it come as it will, in ice, fire, or darkness. What did the universe ever do for me that I should mind its welfare?

It'll be your damnation, boy. You'll wear out a hundred pairs of boots on your way to hell.

Our time here is brief, our risk enormous. Don't waste the one or increase the other, if you please.

Maybe she'll learn something about what death really is, which is where the pain stops and the good memories begin. Not the end of life but the end of pain.

There is no gain without risk, perhaps no risk without love.

Only children tell the whole truth, you know. That's what makes them children.

Life sucks, then you die.

That lesson suggests that in the end, we can only find peace in our human lives by accepting the will of the universe.

Hey police? I just saw the world's oldest, slowest kid climbing into Pleasantview Cemetery. Looked like he was dying to get in. Yeah, looked like a grave matter to me. Kidding? Oh no, I'm in dead earnest. Maybe you ought to dig into it.

And the most terrifying question of all may be just how much horror the human mind can stand and still maintain a wakeful, staring, unrelenting sanity.

I don't think children ever forget the lies their parents tell them.

It's like many other things in life, Ellie. You keep on the path and all's well. You get off it and the next thing you know you're lost if you're not lucky.

Faith is a great thing, and really religious people would like us to believe that faith and knowing are the same thing, but I don't believe that myself. Because there are too many different ideas on the subject. What we know is this: When we die, one of two things happens. Either our souls and thoughts somehow survive the experience of dying or they don't. If they do, that opens up every possibility you could think of. If they don't, it's just blotto. The end.

Children have to grow into their imaginations like a pair of oversized shoes.

She had never dreamed there could be so much pain in a life when there was nothing physically wrong. She hurt all the time.

Small children are great accepters. They don't understand shame, or the need to hide things.

I think all mothers shine a little, you know, at least until their kids grow up enough to watch out for themselves.

He would write it for the reason he felt that all great literature, fiction and nonfiction, was written: truth comes out, in the end it always comes out. He would write it because he felt he had to.

But see that you get on. That's your job in this hard world, to keep your love alive and see that you get on, no matter what. Pull your act together and just go on.

We sometimes need to create unreal monsters and bogies to stand in for all the things we fear in our real lives.

The tears that heal are also the tears that scald and scourge.

Sometimes human places, create inhuman monsters.

Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside of us, and sometimes, they win.

God wiped snot out of his nose and that was you.

How many times, over how many years, had he - a grown man - asked for the mercy of another chance? He was suddenly so sick of himself, so revolted, that he could have groaned aloud.