Stephen King Quotes

No one ever does live happily ever after, but we leave the children to find that out for themselves.

The muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited.

Flip-flop, hippety-hop, offa your rocker and over the top, life's a fiction and the world's a lie, so put on some Creedence and let's get high.

Get busy living, or get busy dying.

There's nothing as human as hunger. There's no creation without talent, I give you that, but talent is cheap. Talent goes begging. Hunger is the piston of art.

If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There's no way around these two things that I'm aware of, no shortcut.

I don't want to speak too disparagingly of my generation (actually I do, we had a chance to change the world but opted for the Home Shopping Network Instead).

If the stuff you're writing is not for yourself, it won't work.

You can't polish a turd.

Go now. Our journey is done. And may we meet again, in the clearing, at the end of the path.

It is, after all, the dab of grit that seeps into an oyster's shell that makes the pearl, not pearl-making seminars with other oysters.

Sooner or later even the fastest runners have to stand and fight.

When it comes to the past, everyone writes fiction.

True sorrow is as rare as true love.

Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.

A successful novel should interrupt the reader’s life, make him or her miss appointments, skip meals, forget to walk the dog.

I think reality is thin, you know, thin as lake ice after a thaw, and we fill our lives with noise and light and motion to hide that thinness from ourselves.

The battle between good and evil is endlessly fascinating because we are participants every day.

If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write.

In the year 2025, the best men don't run for president, they run for their lives. . . .

French is the language that turns dirt into romance.

I am the literary equivalent of a Big Mac and fries.

I hated school. I don't trust anybody who looks back on the years from 14 to 18 with any enjoyment. If you liked being a teenager, there's something really wrong with you.

I'm most afraid of losing my mind. You lose your identity, your sense of who you are, where you are.

If you think you've gone insane ... you're nuts.

Man may have been made in the image of God, but human society was made in the image of His opposite number, and is always trying to get back home.

The more you read, the less apt you are to make a fool of yourself with your pen or word processor.

If God gives you something you can do, why in God's name wouldn't you do it?

Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up.

I believe that the combination of pencil and memory creates a kind of practical magic, and magic is dangerous.

You have to stay faithful to what you're working on.

In both writing and sleeping, we learn to be physically still at the same time we are encouraging our minds to unlock from the humdrum rational thinking of our daytime lives.

Life is a wheel, and if you wait long enough, it always comes back around to where it started.

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.

Now panic beats and flutters inside my skull like a flock of starlings locked in an attic.

The sun was a molten coin burning a circle in the low-hanging overcast, surrounded by a fairy-ring of moisture.

When asked, 'How do you write?' I invariably answer, 'one word at a time.'

The first draft of a book—even a long one—should take no more than three months, the length of a season.

The thought process can never be complete without articulation.

Life is like a wheel. Sooner or later, it always come around to where you started again.

Hurt's a reason to change, but all the hurt in the world don't change facts.

Time apparently did nothing but blunt grief’s sharpest edge so that it hacked rather than sliced.

You could start at a path leading nowhere more fantastic than from your own front steps to the sidewalk, and from there you could go… well, anywhere at all.

And will I tell you that these three lived happily ever after? I will not, for no one ever does. But there was happiness. And they did live.

What we like to think of ourselves and what we really are rarely have much in common.

And when there are enough outsiders together in one place, a mystic osmosis takes place and you're inside.

A woman who would steal your love when your love was really all you had to give was not much of a woman.

Any thoughts of guilt, any feelings of regret, had faded. The desert had baked them out.

Sometimes stories cry out to be told in such loud voices that you write them just to shut them up.

Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule.