Stephen King

Author of Eleven twenty-two sixty-three and 150+ Books

Stephen King


The second son of Donald and Nellie Ruth Pillsbury King was born to Stephen Edwin King. He and his older brother, David, were raised by his mother after his father left them when Stephen was two. He spent parts of his childhood in Fort Wayne, Indiana, where at the time his father's family was, and in Stratford, Connecticut. His mother brought her kids back to Durham, Maine, for good when Stephen was eleven. Her parents, Guy and Nellie Pillsbury, ... were disabled by old age, and her sisters persuaded Ruth King to take over their physical care. Other members of the family provided financial support and a small house in Durham. After Stephens' grandparents passed away, Mrs. King found work in Pineland's kitchens, a nearby mentally challenged residential facility. Stephen attended Durham Grammar School and Lisbon Falls High School, graduating in 1966. He wrote a weekly column for the school newspaper, THE MAINE CAMPUS, from his sophomore year at the University of Maine in Orono. He came on campus to support the anti-war movement, arriving at his position from a conservative point of view that Vietnam's war was unconstitutional. He graduated with a B.A. in English in 1970, and was qualified for high school teaching. A draft board examination immediately after graduation found him 4-F because of high blood pressure, limited vision, flat feet, and punctured eardrums. He met Tabitha Spruce in the stacks of the University's Fogler Library, where they both worked as students; they married in January 1971. As Stephen was unable to find immediate placement as a teacher, the Kings lived on his earnings. Many were collected in the collection of the Night Shift or appeared in other anthologies. Stephen began teaching English at Hampden Academy, the public high school in Hampden, Maine, in the fall of 1971. He continued to produce short stories and work on novels in the evenings and on the weekends.READ MORE

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Popular quotes by Stephen King


As his mouth flooded with that horrible sweet purple taste, he could actually see those grapes dull, dusty, obese and nasty, crawling up a dirty stucco wall in a thick, syrupy sunlight that was silent except for the stupid buzz of many flies

But he had never seen Myrna in practice...never that close up. He had been impressed and a little frightened by the contrast between seeing ballet on stange, where everyone seemed to either glide or mince effortlessly on the tips of their pointes. and seeing it from less than five feet away, with harsh daylight pouring in the floor-to-ceiling windows and no music- only the choreographer rythmically clapping his hands and yelling harsh criticisms. No praise, only criticisms. Their faces ran with sweat. Their leotards were wet with sweat. The room, as large and airy as it way, stank of sweat. Sleek muscles trembled and fluttered on the nervous edge of exhaustion. Corded tendons stood out like insulated cables. Throbbing veins popped out on foreheads and necks. Except for the choreographer's clapping and angry, hectoring shouts, the only sounds were the thrup-thud of ballet dancers on pointe moving across the floor and harsh, agonized panting for breath. Jack had suddenly realized that these dancers were not just earning a living, they were killing themselves. Most of all he remembered their expressions- all that exhausted concentration, all that pain... but transcending the pain, or at least creeping around its edges, he had seen joy. Joy was unmistakably what that look was, and it scared Jack because it had seemed inexplicable.

and the rain went rollin down the windowpanes, and the shadows wiggled n' squiggled on her check and forehead like black veins.

Her hands twisted restlessly together like a pair of pink and hairless animals at play.

Rivers of wrinkles flowing down from the corners of this eyes and mouth.

He reached out with one bird-claw hand. He closed it around my wrist and I could feel the hot cancer that was loose and raving through his body, eating anything and everything left that was still good to eat.

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