Do We Have To Confess Our Loves

And Then There Came The Pounding Of Another Drum, As If Another Giant Were Coming Yards Behind Him, And Each Giant, Intent On His Own Drum, Gave No Notice To The Rhythm Of The Other. The Sound Grew Louder And Louder Until It Seemed To Fill Not Just My Hearing But All My Senses, To Be Throbbing In My Lips And Fingers, In The Flesh Of My Temples, In My Veins.

I Can't Keep Up With Stephen King's Output.

As They Die, The Ones We Love, We Lose Our Witnesses, Our Watchers, Those Who Know And Understand The Tiny Little Meaningless Patterns, Those Words Drawn In Water With A Stick. And There Is Nothing Left But The Endless Flow.

In The Very Depths Of Hell, Do Not Demons Love One Another?

Stephen King In Many Respects Is A Wonderful Writer. He Has Made A Contribution. People In The Future Will Be Able To Pick Up Stephen King's Books And Learn A Lot About Who We Were By Reading Those Books.