The Institute Stephen King Quotes

Great events turn on small hinges.

He wanted to tell Luke that he loved him. But there were no words, and maybe no need of them. Or telepathy. Sometimes a hug was telepathy.

this life we think we’re living isn’t real. It’s just a shadow play, and I for one will be glad when the lights go out on it. In the dark, all the shadows disappear.

Between midnight and four, everyone should have permission to speak freely.

It came to him, with the force of a revelation, that you had to have been imprisoned to fully understand what freedom was.

It was so simple, but it was a revelation: what you did for yourself was what gave you the power.

There was an abyss. And books contained magical incantations to raise what was hidden there, all the great mysteries.

.. .what is the mother of carelessness if not assumption?

He was only twelve, and understood that his experience of the world was limited, but one thing he was quite sure of: when someone said trust me, they were usually lying through their teeth.

If I may borrow from George R. R. Martin, she is my sun and stars.

Don’t say things that invite sorrow,

Sane people don't sacrifice children on the altar of probability. That's not science, it's superstition.

Back in the main corridor—what Luke now understood to be the residents’ wing—the little girls, Gerda and Greta, were standing and watching with wide, frightened eyes. They were holding hands and clutching dolls as identical as they were. They reminded Luke of twins in some old horror movie.

losers so dumb that they mistook wrapping themselves in the chains of addiction as an act of rebellion.

They reminded Luke of twins in some old horror movie.

Try not to think of a polar bear, Fyodor Dostoyevsky once said, and you will see the cursed thing come to mind every minute.

There were other people here with at least some shreds of decency left, but working in a place like this destroyed your moral compass.

Trump and his cronies took it all back. They understand culture no more than a donkey understands algebra.

Around and around it went, and what was round had no point, any fool knew that.

It came to him (and with the force of a revelation) that life was basically one long SAT test, and instead of four or five choices, you got dozens.

There’s a town in Maine, Jerusalem’s Lot, and you could ask the people who lived there about the men in the black cars.

Love don't die with the earthly body, son. It's a purely ridiculous notion.

He had no psychic powers, but there was one power he did have: he was the grownup. The adult.

You know, Jamieson, this life we think we’re living isn’t real. It’s just a shadow play, and I for one will be glad when the lights go out on it. In the dark, all the shadows disappear.

It wasn't very nice, but the truth seldom was.

Seventy years after Hiroshima and Nagasaki were obliterated by atomic bombs, the world is still here even though many nations have atomic weapons, even though primitive human emotions still hold sway over rational thought and superstition masquerading as religion still guides the course of human politics.

Did she know about Trump?” Kalisha asked. “Oh, she was long dead before that big city dumbshit turned up,

As his father liked to say, it was good to have goals. They could bring you through tough times.

Orphan Annie stood her ground. She had been raised that way in the Georgia canebrakes by a father who told her, “You don’t back down, girl, not for nothin.” Jean Ledoux had been a crack shot whether drunk or sober, and he had taught her well. Now she opened fire with both of Drummer’s handguns, compensating for the .45 auto’s heavier recoil without even thinking about it.

What good would that do had become another mantra, and he recognized it was a bad way to think, a step down the path to acceptance of this place. He didn’t want to go there, no way did he want to go there, but logic was logic.

Last but hardly least, thanks to my kids—Naomi, Joe, and Owen—and to my wife. If I may borrow from George R. R. Martin, she is my sun and stars.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. For the last time, go to sleep.

HELL IS WAITING. I’LL BE HERE TO MEET YOU.

It was good not to be alone in this anymore. He really hadn't realized how heavy that burden was until now.

one of his grandfather’s old sayings occurred to him: wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills

Almost an hour after Julia’s last contact—much too long—Stackhouse’s box phone lit up and began to buzz. He grabbed it. “Have you got him, Julia?” The voice that replied was so astounding that Stackhouse almost dropped the phone. “No,” Luke Ellis said, “you’ve got it backward.” Stackhouse could hear undeniable satisfaction in the little shit’s voice. “We’ve got her.

Luke Ellis was the guy who went out of his way to be social so people wouldn’t think he was a weirdo as well as a brainiac. He checked all the correct interaction boxes and then went back to his books. Because there was an abyss, and books contained magical incantations to raise what was hidden there: all the great mysteries. For Luke, those mysteries mattered. Someday, in the future, he might write books of his own.

He read the way free-range cows graze, moving to wherever the grass is greenest. That was a thing her husband chose to ignore, because the strangeness of it frightened him. It frightened her as well, which was probably one reason why she knew nothing of Luke’s tutorial on Balkan history. He hadn’t told her because she hadn’t asked.

Her name was Marjorie Kellerman, and she ran the Brunswick library. She also belonged to something called the Southeastern Library Association. Which, she said, had no money because “Trump and his cronies took it all back. They understand culture no more than a donkey understands algebra.

Because there was an abyss. And books contained magical incantations to raise what was hidden there, all the great mysteries. For Luke, those mysteries mattered. Someday in the future, he might write books of his own. But here the only future was Back Half. Here, the future of existence was, 'What good would it do?

Él era el mejor. El mejor amigo que había tenido nunca”.

Do you think memory is a blessing or a curse?

something about a guy running over a bunch of people with a truck to prove how religious he was.

Tim looked after him, disquieted. He thought Drummer Denton was one of those fellows who might decide some rainy night to kill himself.

Obamacare is looked upon as a libtard blasphemy, and a trip to Walmart is considered an occasion

Pero no hubo palabras, tal vez no hacían falta. Como tampoco telepatía. A veces un abrazo era telepatía

He thought of the Roman satirist, Juvenal, who had said that if you gave the people bread and circuses, they’d be happy and not cause any trouble.

Mam ochotę, ale tego nie zrobię. Bo wtedy byłbym taki sam jak on.

what you didn’t know kept you safe. What you added could trip you up.

Those things make you believe for awhile that all of this is real. That it matters. But it’s not and it doesn’t.

I’m not hungry,’ the newcomer said. ‘Just tell me one thing. Who do I have to blow to get out of here?

what if they’re not taking out? What if they’re putting in? They say they’re

once the punching starts, strategy goes out the window.

I don’t know if you call that becomin modesty or low self-esteem, but I don’t much care for the sound of it either way.

There was a study a few years back that said over half a million kids go missing each year in the United States.

was in Iraq during the second Gulf war, and I was in Afghanistan, and I was involved in what was called enhanced interrogation.

It really wasn’t a benefit at all, but a protection. People who were in debt could be tempted to sell secrets.

But my advice is go on and be a good sport no matter how much it sucks, no matter what they stick down your throat or up your butt.

Someone had slipped up. Just a tiny slip, but where there was one, there might be others.

Those look like kids!’ Sandra nodded. ‘Unless they’re midgets, which doesn’t seem very likely.

and he’d been stupid to believe otherwise. Maximo retardo.

They won’t.’ Knowing that was a stupid thing to say, maximo retardo.

Okay. Have a nice day, Fred.’ ‘Fuck your nice day.

Kalisha frowned at him. ‘Don’t call them that. It’s a slave word. Like calling me a nigger.

She sounded like a politician on a TV ad, and her thoughts were flying around like scraps of paper caught in a strong wind.

He read legal thrillers by John Grisham and the entire Song of Ice and Fire series. He was a big fan of Tyrion Lannister.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

He read the way free-range cows graze, moving to wherever the grass is greenest.

Don't say things that invite sorrow.

Always verbal and often verbose, now seemed to struggle. He started, stopped, started again, and stopped again. "I don't know how to say it. I don't know if I can say it.

A navy SEAL couldn't stand up to that shit, let alone a kid not old enough to have more than six hairs on his balls

They reminded Luke of twins in some old horror

He checked all the correct interaction boxes and then went back to his books. Because there was an abyss, and books contained magical incantations to raise what was hidden there:

You keep climbing higher and higher on the assumption tree, and each branch is thinner than the last.

His feelings for Kalisha would pass like a fever, although it would be useless to tell him that. He would remember, though. "What the hell, life goes on.

Luke gave him another poke, but he was smiling, and Avery probably knew it, dark or not. The smile was in his mind as well as on his mouth, and Luke thought he had a right to it.

Assume," Mrs. Sigsby said. "A word that makes an ass out of you and me.

Gerda and Greta, were standing and watching with wide, frightened eyes. They were holding hands and cluthing dolls as identical as they were. They reminded Luke of twins in some old horror movie

Tim said nothing, only looked at her. He had put the Glock beside him on the seat. Firing a gun at 39,000 feet would be a very bad idea, and really, why would he, even if they’d been at a much lower altitude?

Whatever they were, it would eventually come to loading and unloading at the next port of call. Maybe everything did. And everyone. Not long ago he had unloaded himself from a Delta flight bound for New York.

He remembered something Mike Tyson had said: once the punching starts, strategy goes out the window. The apple cart is tipping, but it hasn't turned over. Best to hang. See who's still standing once the punching is over.

Knows he's not ready to be on his own, even in a supervised environment. He's very clear-headed about that. Yet he's becoming frustrated and unhappy with his current situation, because he's hungry to learn. Famished, in fact.

The Institute had become her life, and she was okay with that. Most of the staff was the same. Once they had been soldiers, or security personnel at hard-edged companies like Blackwater and Tomahawk Global, or law enforcement.

He thought again, They changed me. I don’t know how and I don’t know how much, but yes, they changed me. Something new has been added. He was very glad he’d lied about the cards. And very glad they believed his lie. At least for now.

Just now I’m a man watching the sun go down through the trees,” Tim said, “and I would as soon do it alone.” “Say nummore, say nummore,” Norbert said, and beat a retreat, pausing only for a single narrow, assessing glance over his shoulder.

As a species, we’re built to do one thing above all others, and you kids did it.” He reached out with both hands and wiped the tears from Kalisha’s cheeks. “You survived. You used your love and your wits, and you survived. Now let’s have some cake.

The old hunger to know came over him. To learn a new thing. To isolate and understand the central issues. As always, each piece of information led to three more (or six, or twelve), and eventually a coherent picture began to emerge. A kind of terrain map.

She wants to believe.” “Believe what?” The look she gave him—both wise and sad—again made her look more like a grownup than a kid. “That this is just a little detour on the great highway of life, and everything’s going to come out all right in the end, like on Scooby-Doo.

We run new tests every time we add a new precog. They’re tasked with predicting a series of random events such as the late arrivals of certain planes . . . news events such as the death of Tom Petty . . . the Brexit vote . . . vehicles passing through certain intersections, even.

I know about those pills, Jamieson. They’re like booze and pot. Probably like the ecstasy the kids take nowadays when they go to their raves, or whatever they call them. Those things make you believe for awhile that all of this is real. That it matters. But it’s not and it doesn’t.

There’s an abyss, okay? Sometimes I dream about it. It goes down forever, and it’s full of all the things I don’t know. I don’t know how an abyss can be full—it’s an oxymoron—but it is. It makes me feel small and stupid. But there’s a bridge over it, and I want to walk on it. I want to stand in the middle of it, and raise my hands…

Hell is waiting,” he mused. “Considering what we’re doing here, some might call that a reasonable assumption.” Not prone for vulgarity as a general rule, Mrs. Sigsby said, “Bullshit.” Stackhouse shrugged. His bald head gleamed beneath the light fixture as if Turtle Waxed. “Outsiders is what I meant, people who don’t know the score.

Okay, that’s how you go back in. If you’re lucky, your folks will never know you were out.” Robert: “You won’t tell them?” “Not unless I see you try it again,” Tim said. “Then I’ll not only tell them what you did, I’ll tell them about how you sassed me when I caught you.” Roland, shocked: “We didn’t do no such thing!” “I’ll lie,” Tim said.

BDNF stood for brain-derived neurotrophic factor. Mrs. Sigsby understood very little of its chemical underpinnings, that was Dr. Hendricks’s bailiwick, but she understood the basics. Like BMR, basal metabolic rate, BDNF was a scale. What it measured was the growth and survival rate of neurons throughout the body, and especially in the brain.

jittered. “There’s an abyss, okay? Sometimes I dream about it. It goes down forever, and it’s full of all the things I don’t know. I don’t know how an abyss can be full—it’s an oxymoron—but it is. It makes me feel small and stupid. But there’s a bridge over it, and I want to walk on it. I want to stand in the middle of it, and raise my hands…

Yet even in his deep unhappiness, he sometimes thought of the bright image Avery had projected: a canary flying from its cage. His waking sleep of grief was sometimes pierced with brilliant slices of memory that always came unexpectedly. Luke thought of the cage he was in and the free bird he aspired to be. Those were the only times when his mind gained its former sharp focus.

The Bernoulli is an accurate way of expressing probability,” Luke said. “It’s based on the idea that there are two possible outcomes to certain empiric events, like coin flips or the winners of football games. The outcomes can be expressed as p for positive result and n for negative result. I won’t bore you with the details, but you end up with a boolean-valued outcome that clearly expresses the difference between

Now there was just the sound of his own steadily beating heart and the turn of his thoughts. He was relieved to find himself eighty per cent determined and only twenty per cent afraid. Even that much fear made no real sense, but Luke supposed it was natural. What drove the determination---what he absolutely knew---was simple and stark: this was his chance, the only one he'd have, and he intended to make the most of it.

Later, standing in the shower with his head bent and water running through his hair, he cried some more. He would have given anything, maybe his very soul, if he could wake up to sunlight lying across his bed like a second coverlet and smell frying bacon downstairs. The tears finally dried up, and he began to feel something other than sorrow and loss--something harder. A kind of bedrock, previously unknown to him. It was a relief to know it was there.

He had hugged them all, sometimes after they awoke from bad dreams---but this one meant more. This one meant the world, at least to Tim. He wanted to tell Luke that he was brave, maybe the bravest kid ever outside of a boys' adventure book. He wanted to tell Luke that he was strong and decent and his folks would be proud of him. He wanted to tell Luke that he loved him. But there were no words, and maybe no need for them. Or telepathy, Sometimes a hug was telepathy.