He could just look at people and listen to them and suddenly he'd know things about them.

She didn't even look towards me as I went out. I went out into the crisp fall sunlight and got into my car. I was a nice boy, trying to get along. Yes, I was a swell guy. I liked knowing myself. I was the kind of guy who chiseled a sodden old wreck out of her life secrets to win a ten-dollar bet.

A lot of hard work has to go into your career, and preparation, and being your best at all times.

He was like something out of a fairytale or a myth, the last of his breed in a world that was writing the last page of its book.

Written By Stephen King

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