You pay for what you get, you own what you pay for... and sooner or later whatever you own comes back home to you.

My heart's with you, Bill, no matter how it turns out. My heart is with all of them, and I think that, even if we forget each other, we'll remember in our dreams.

لماذا لا ينسى هو؟لأنه كاتب .. "والكتاب لا ينسون شيئاً" .. "الادب هو خلود الذكريات" .. ترى من هو قائل هذه العبارة؟ ربما (فوكنر) أو (زاس).

Some memories battened onto a person’s mind like evil leeches, and certain words—stupid and ridiculous, for example—could bring them instantly back to squirming, feverish life.

Except you can’t put anything behind you. Nothing is lost until death. You wear your history like a necklace, a smelly one made of garlic. Whether you tuck it under your collar or let it dangle loose, nothing is lost.

Ben Hanscom... feels the wall of time grow suddenly thin; some terrible/wonderful peristalsis has begun to take place. He thinks: My God, I am being digested by my own past.

He felt more crypts cracking open inside of him; the stench he smelled was not decayed bodies but decayed memories, and that was somehow worse.

Io non uccido con la pistola; colei che uccide con la pistola ha dimenticato il volto di suo padre. Io uccido con il cuore.""E allora UCCIDILI, nel nome di tuo padre!" tuonò Roland. "UCCIDILI TUTTI!

This was it, he knew it, was sure of it, this was the door which would take him back—