No one ever grows up. They may look grown-up, but it's a disguise. It's just the clay of time. Men and women are still children deep in their hearts. They still would like to jump and play, but that heavy… — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
“No one ever grows up. They may look grown-up, but it's just the clay of time. Men and women are still children deep in their hearts." Mrs. Neville” — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
“There was lightning behind Mr. Sayre's eyes, and it was looking for a place to strike.” — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
“His hair was think and curly and reddish-brown, his eyes a clear ice blue; Ramona had told him many times that she could see… — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
“The truth of life is that every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us. We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, some of them not so good. Things happen to us. Loved ones die. People get in wrecks and get crippled. People lose their way, for one reason or another. It's not… — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share
“It seemed to Billy that no matter how far you walked, you never really got to the end of things.” — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
“The sharp white steeple of the Hawthorne First Baptist Church stuck up through the leafless trees like an admonishing finger.” — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
“I hoped she would never lock her smile away, and forget where she'd put the key.” — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
They say that somewhere in Africa the elephants have a secret grave where they go to lie down, unburden their wrinkled gray bodies, and… — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
Maybe crazy is what they call anybody who's got magic in them after they're no longer a child. — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
“I couldn't picture heaven. How could a place be any good at all if it didn't have the things there you enjoyed doing? If there were no comic books, no monster movies, no bikes, and no country roads to ride them on? No swimming pools, no ice cream, no summer, or barbecue on the Fourth of July? No thunderstorms, and… — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share
“This was a dank, sinister chill: the chill of shadows where poison toadstools grown, their ruddy colors beckoning a child to come, come take… — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
“Put one foot forward and the other will get you to where you are going~!" Bag Lady, Swan Song” — Robert R. McCammon Copy Share Image
