1. Roland teaching Susannah how to shoot, Plume TP, p. 15-16

"Yonder stones are those men," Roland said softly. "The men who locked you in a cell and left you to foul yourself. The men with the clubs and the dogs. The men who called you a nigger cunt."

He pointed at them, moving his finger from left to right.

"There's the one who pinched your breast and laughed. There's the one who said he better check and see if you had something stuffed up your ass. There's the one who called you a chimpanzee in a five-hundred-dollar dress. That's the one that kept running his billyclub over the spokes of your wheelchair until you thought the sound would send you mad. There's the one who called your friend Leon pinko-fag. And the one on the end, Susannah, is Jack Mort.

"There. Those stones. Those men."

She was breathing rapidly now, her bosom rising and falling in swift little jerks beneath the gunslinger's gunbelt with its heavy freight of bullets. Her eyes had left him; they were looking at the mica-flecked chips of stone. Behind them and at some distance, a tree splintered and fell over. More crows called in the sky. Deep in the game which was no longer a game, neither of them noticed.

"Oh yeah?" she breathed. "That so?"

"It is. Now say your lesson, Susannah Dean, and be true."

This time the words fell from her lips like small chunks of ice. Her right hand trembled lightly on the arm of her wheelchair like an idling engine.

"'I do not aim with my hand; she who aims with her hand has forgotten the face of her father.

"'I shoot with my mind.'"

"So it has ever been, Susannah Dean."

"'I do not kill with my gun; she who kills with her gun has forgotten the face of her father.

"'I kill with my heart'"

"Then KILL them, for your father's sake!" Roland shouted. "KILL THEM ALL!"

Her right hand was a blur between the arm of her chair and the butt of Roland's sixgun. It was out in a second, her left hand descending, fanning at the hammer in flutters almost as swift and delicate as the wing of a hummingbird. Six flat cracks pealed off across the valley, and five of the six chips of stone set atop the boulder blinked out of existence.

For a moment neither of them spoke — did not even breathe, it seemed — as the echoes rolled back and forth, dimming. Even the crows were silent, at least for the time being.

The gunslinger broke the silence with four toneless yet oddly emphatic words: "It is very well."

2. Susannah confronts the bear, Plume TP, p. 31

SAY YOUR LESSON, Susannah Dean, and be true.

The bear came at them in a rumbling lope; it was like watching a runaway factory machine over which someone had thrown a huge, moth-eating rug.

It looks like a hat! A little steel hat!

She saw it ... but it didn't look like a hat to her. It looked like a radar-dish — a much smaller version of the kind she had seen in MovieTone newsreel stories about how the DEW-line was keeping everyone safe from a Russian sneak attack. It was bigger than the pebbles she had shot off the boulder earlier, but the distance was greater. Sun and shadow ran across it in deceiving dapples.

I do not aim with my hand; she who aims with her hand has forgotten the face of her father.

I can't do it!

I do not shoot with my hand; she who shoots with her hand has forgotten the face of her father.

I'll miss! I know I'll miss!

I do not kill with my gun; she who kills with her gun —

"Shoot it!" Roland roared. "Susannah, shoot it!"

With the trigger as yet unpulled, she saw the bullet go home, guided from muzzle to target by nothing more or less than her heart's fierce desire that it should fly true. All fear fell away. What was left was a feeling of deep coldness and she had time to think: This is what he feels. My God — how does he stand it?

"I kill with my heart, motherfucker," she said, and the gunslinger's revolver roared in her hand.

3. Jake's understanding of the Truth, Plume TP, p.97-98

He looked at the title page with puzzlement and growing unease. MY UNDERSTANDING OF TRUTH, by John Chambers, was neatly typed and centered on the sheet, and that was all right, but he had for some reason pasted two photographs below it. One was of a door — he thought it might be the one at Number 10, Downing Street, in London — and the other was of an Amtrak train. They were color shots, undoubtedly culled from some magazine.

Why did I do that? And when did I do it?

He turned the page and stared down at the first page of his Final Essay, unable to believe or understand what he was seeing. Then, as understanding began to trickle through his shock, he felt an escalating sense of horror. It had finally happened; he had finally lost enough of his mind so that other people would be able to tell.

MY UNDERSTANDING OF TRUTH

By John Chambers

"I will show you fear in a handful of dust."

-- T. S. "BUTCH" ELIOT

"My first thought was, he lied in every word."

-- ROBERT "SUNDANCE" BROWNING

The gunslinger is the truth.

Roland is the truth.

The Prisoner is the truth.

The Lady of Shadows is the truth.

The Prisoner and the Lady are married. That is the truth.

The way station is the truth.

The Speaking Demon is the truth.

We went under the mountains and that is the truth.

There were monsters under the mountain. That is the truth.

One of them had an Amoco gas pump between his legs and pretending it was his penis. That is the truth.

Roland let me die. That is the truth.

I still love him.

That is the truth.

"And it is so very important that you all read The Lord of the Flies," Ms. Avery was saying in her clear but somehow pale voice. "And when you do, you must ask yourselves certain questions. A good novel is often like a series of riddles within riddles, and this is a very good novel — one of the best written in the second half of the twentieth century. So ask yourselves first what the symbolic significance of the conch shell might be. Second --"

Far away. Far, far away. Jake turned to the second page of his Final Essay with a trembling hand, leaving a dark smear of sweat on the first page.

When is a door not a door? When it's a jar, and that is the truth.

Blaine is the truth.

Blaine is the truth.

What has four wheels and flies? A garbage truck, and that is the truth.

Blaine is the truth.

You have to watch Blaine all the time, Blaine is a pain, and that is the truth.

I'm pretty sure that Blaine is dangerous, and that is the truth.

What is black and white and red all over? A blushing zebra, and that is the truth.

I can't go home again unless I find a stone a rose a door and that is the truth.

Choo-choo, and that is the truth.

Choo-choo. Choo-choo.

Choo-choo. Choo-choo. Choo-choo.

Choo-choo. Choo-choo. Choo-choo. Choo-choo.

I am afraid. That is the truth.

Choo-choo.

4. Roland goes after Jake, Plume TP, p. 302-303

"Come on," Roland said as soon as Gasher had turned tail.

"How could you do it?" Eddie asked. "How could you let that freak have him?"

"Because I had no choice. Bring the wheelchair. We're going to need it."

They had reached the concrete on the far side of the gap when an explosion shook the bridge, spraying rubble into the darkening sky.

"Christ!" Eddie said, and turned his white, dismayed face to Roland.

"Don't worry yet," Roland said calmly. "Fellows like Gasher rarely get careless with their high-explosive toys." They reached the tollbooths at the end of the bridge. Roland stopped just beyond, at the top of the curving ramp.

"You knew the guy wasn't just bluffing, didn't you?" Eddie said. "I mean, you weren't guessing — you knew."

"He's a walking dead man, and such men don't need to bluff." Roland's voice was calm enough, but there was a deep undertone of bitterness and pain in it. "I knew something like this could happen, and if we'd seen the fellow earlier, while we were still beyond the range of his exploding egg, we could have stood him off. But then Jake fell and he got too close. I imagine he thinks our real reason for bringing a boy in the first place was to pay for safe conduct through the city. Damn! Damn the luck!" Roland struck his fist against his leg.

"Well, let's go get him!"

Roland shook his head. "This is where we split up. We can't take Susannah where the bastard's gone, and we can't leave her alone."

"But --"

"Listen and don't argue—not if you want to save Jake. The longer we stand here, the colder his trail gets. Cold trails are hard to follow. You've got your own job to do. If there's another Blaine, and I am sure Jake believes there is, then you and Susannah must find it. There must be a station, or what was once called a cradle in the far lands. Do you understand?"

For once, blessedly, Eddie didn't argue. "Yeah. We'll find it. What then?"

"Fire a shot every half hour or so. When I get Jake, I'll come."

"Shots may attract other people as well," Susannah said. Eddie had helped her out of the sling and she was seated in her chair again.

Roland surveyed them coldly. "Handle them."

"Okay." Eddie stuck out his hand and Roland took it briefly. "Find him, Roland."

"Oh, I'll find him. Just pray to your gods that I find him soon enough. And remember the faces of your fathers, both of you."

Susannah nodded. "We'll try."

Roland turned and ran light-footed down the ramp. When he was out of sight, Eddie looked at Susannah and was not very surprised to see she was crying. He felt like crying himself. Half an hour ago they had been a tight little band of friends. Their comfortable fellowship had been smashed to bits in the space of just a few minutes—Jake abducted, Roland gone after him. Even Oy had run away. Eddie had never felt so lonely in his life.

"I have a feeling we're never going to see either of them again," Susannah said.

5. Jake and the Tick-Tock Man, Plume TP, p. 365-367

"Could I have something to drink?" Jake asked. His voice came out sounding furry and nasal. Both his mouth and the tissues in his abused nose were swelling up. He looked like someone who has gotten the worst of it in a nasty street-fight

"Oh, yes, "Tick-Tock replied judiciously. "You could. I'd say you certainly could. We have lots to drink, don't we, Copperhead?"

"Ay," said a tall, bespectacled man in a white silk shirt and a pair of black silk trousers. He looked like a college professor in a turn-of-the-century Punch cartoon. "No shortage of po-ter-bulls here."

The Tick-Tock Man, once more seated at ease in his throne-like chair, looked humorously at Jake. "We have wine, beer, ale, and, of course, good old water. Sometimes that's all a body wants, isn't it? Cool, clear, sparkling water. How does that sound, cully?"

Jake's throat, which was also swollen and as dry as sandpaper, prickled painfully. "Sounds good," he whispered.

"It's woke my thirsty up, I know that," Tick-Tock said. His lips spread in a smile. His green eyes sparkled. "Bring me a dipper of water, Tilly — I'll be damned if I know what's happened to my manners."

Tilly stepped through the hatchway on the far side of the moon — it was opposite the one through which Jake and Gasher had entered. Jake watched her go and licked his swollen lips.

"Now," Tick-Tock said, returning his gaze to Jake, "you say the American city you came from — New York — is much like Lud."

"Well ... not exactly ..."

"But you do recognize some of the machinery," Tick-Tock pressed. "Valves and pumps and such. Not to mention the firedim tubes."

"Yes. We call it neon, but it's the same."

Tick-Tock reached out toward him. Jake cringed, but Tick-Tock only patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, yes; close enough." His eyes gleamed. "And you've heard of computers?"

"Sure, but --"

Tilly returned with the dipper and timidly approached the Tick-Tock Man's throne. He took it and held it out to Jake. When Jake reached for it, Tick-Tock pulled it back and drank himself. As Jake watched the water trickle from Tick-Tock's mouth and roll down his naked chest, he began to shake. He couldn't help it.

The Tick-Tock Man looked over the dipper at him, as if just remembering that Jake was still there. Behind him, Gasher, Copperhead, Brandon, and Hoots were grinning like schoolyard kids who have just heard an amusing dirty joke.

"Why, I got thinking about how thirsty I was and forgot all about you!" Tick-Tock cried. "That's mean as hell, gods damn my eyes! But, of course, it looked so good ... and it is good ... cold ... clear ..."

He held the dipper out to Jake. When Jake reached for it, Tick-Tock pulled it back.

"First, cully, tell me what you know about dipolar computers and transitive circuits," he said coldly.

"What ..." Jake looked toward the ventilator grille, but the golden eyes were still gone. He was beginning to think he had imagined them after all. He shifted his gaze back to the Tick-Tock Man, understanding one thing clearly; he wasn't going to get any water. He had been stupid to even dream he might. "What are dipolar computers?"

The Tick-Tock Man's face contorted with rage; he threw the remainder of the water into Jake's bruised, puffy face. "Don't you play it light with me!" he shrieked. He stripped off the Seiko watch and shook it in front of Jake. "When I asked you if this ran on a dipolar circuit, you said it didn't! So don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about when you already made it clear that you do!"

"But...but..." Jake couldn't go on. His head was whirling with fear and confusion. He was aware, in some far-off fashion, that he was licking as much water as he could off his lips.

"There's a thousand of those ever-fucking dipolar computers right under the ever-fucking city, maybe a HUNDRED thousand, and the only one that still works don't do a thing except play Watch Me and run those drums! I want those computers! I want them working for ME!"