We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it.

Cualquier destino, por largo y complicado que sea, consta en realidad de un solo momento: el momento en que el hombre sabe para siempre quién es

Nobody but a Southerner knows the wrenching rinsing sadness of the cities of the North.

Will I like it Jake? In your place?' 'I hope so, hon.' 'Is it very different?' I smiled. 'People pay more for gasoline and have more buttons to push. Otherwise, it's about the same.

Written By Stephen King

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