Bird and bear and hare and fish, give my love her fondest wish.
It’s a poor boy sanditch, with lots of mayo, whatever that is. I’d want a sauce that didn’t look quite so much like come, myself, but may it do ya fine.
“
| — | Roland to Eddie, Dark Tower VII |
The gunslinger waited for the time of the drawing and dreamed his long dreams of the Dark Tower, to which he would some day come at dusk and approach, winding his horn, to do some unimaginable final battle.
“
| — | The Gunslinger |
It had been no struggle to turn his face to the south and leave it behind — but it had hurt his heart.
“
| — | The Gunslinger |
You see? Size defeats us. For the fish, the lake in which he lives is the universe. What does the fish think when he is jerked up by the mouth through the silver limits of existence and into a new universe where the air drowns him and the light is blue madness? Where hugh bipeds with no gills stuff it into a suffocating box and cover it with wet weeds to die?
“
| — | The Gunslinger |
