Dean Koontz

Dean Koontz
Dean Ray Koontzis an American author. His novels are broadly described as suspense thrillers, but also frequently incorporate elements of horror, fantasy, science fiction, mystery, and satire. Many of his books have appeared on the New York Times Bestseller List, with 14 hardcovers and 14 paperbacks reaching the number one position. Koontz wrote under a number of pen names earlier in his career, including "David Axton", "Leigh Nichols" and "Brian Coffey". He has sold over 450 million copies as reported on...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth9 July 1945
CityEverett, PA
CountryUnited States of America
Any drunk who has tried to put his car where a lamppost stands is a self-educated physicist.
The whisper of the dusk is night shedding its husk.
Nearly everything that was fun, of course, was also a little dangerous: riding roller coasters, skydiving, gambling, sex.
One man's idea of perfect order is another man's chaos.
the worst happens when you least expect it
Being alone can be good. It's easy to find peace alone. But sometimes, being alone is a king of death.
A plot without action is like pasta without garlic, like Dolly Parton without cleavage, and like a writer without his similes.
She blinked, sat up, and saw Chris in the bathroom doorway. He'd just gotten out the shower. His hair was damp, and he was dressed only in his briefs. The sight of his thin, boyish body - all ribs and elbows and knees - pulled at her heart, for he looked so innocent and vulnerable. He was so small and fragile that she wondered how she could ever protect him, and renewed fear rose in her.
Books had shown me, however, that all people everywhere wanted their lives to have purpose and meaning. This longing was universal.
I don't mean to imply that I'm afraid of Death. I'm just not ready to go out on a date with him.
Of course, I don't know everything. Considering the infinite amount of knowledge that one could acquire in a virtually innumerable array of intellectual disciplines, it's probably more accurate to say that I don't know anything.
Nothing is worse than being alone on the evening of the day when one's cow has exploded.
Good fences make good neighbors, and these were apparently good enough that they had not felt the need for razor wire at the top. I crested the fence, threw myself into the yard beyond, fell, rolled to my feet, and ran with the expectation of being garroted by a taut clothesline. I heard panting, looked down, and saw a gold retriever running at my side, ears flapping. The dog glanced up at me tongue rolling, grinning, as though jazzed by the prospect of an unscheduled play session.
I am the One, and I see all. But the blind man in Apartment 1-A is blind in many ways, as are all human beings, even those with functioning eyes. They are blind to their folly, to their ignorance, to their history, to the future that they will make for themselves. A future born of self-loathing.