The Book of Counted Sorrows was originally a nonexistent book "quoted" in many of Dean Koontz's books. Koontz subsequently wrote a book of poetry by the . 7 quotes from The Book Of Counted Sorrows: 'On the Road that I have taken, one day walking I awaken, amazed to see where I've come, where I'm going, wher. The Book Of Counted Sorrows book. Read 39 reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Long awaited Book of Koontz's poetry. Limited to n.

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    The Book Of Counted Sorrows

    The Book of Counted Sorrows. This contains all of the entries in the book to date. I'm still looking for the ”actual” book and my research tells me that it's not available in e-book anymore. -((So I'll just share those that Dean. I have always loved the poems and sayings from Dean R. Koontz's novels under the heading of "The Book of Counted Sorrows". However this collection is.

    Chapter 1 Before the Glass of Sherry In , I began citing lines of verse from The Book of Counted Sorrows as epigraphs at the beginnings--and occasionally at the part divisions--of some of my novels. Little more than a decade later, mail from readers, specifically inquiring about this exotic volume of poetry, had risen to 3, letters a year. Dealing with these earnest but exhaustingly repetitious inquiries became so annoying to one of my assistants--Basil Keenly--that he gave up his lifelong dream of serving as a novelist's right-hand man, signed up for a series of university courses toward a new career in body waxing, subsequently worked as a customized-cake salesman your face or favorite body part realistically rendered in exquisitely subtle shades of icing , briefly returned to personal-assistant work as the right hand to Porky Pig, but was dispirited by the endless jokes about stuttering and ham that came with the job, attempted to hold up a 7-Eleven with a lump of cake cunningly decorated to resemble a handgun, and eventually took a leave from the secular world by joining a tiny and somewhat curious religious community that worships squirrels. Tragically, while working with other cultists in urgent preparation for a hard winter, he was crushed when the community hoard suddenly shifted, burying him under millions of acorns, walnuts, and dried legumes. I miss him. We all miss him here at the Koontz manor. Well, not Mrs. Scuttlesby, whose standards of excellence are so high and whose commitment to her work is so complete and unrelenting that she feels nothing but contempt, and rightly so, for the rest of us engaged in this enterprise. She said good riddance to Basil when he left our employment, as she says good riddance to all, as she says good riddance to me and my wife each time that we depart on a brief holiday, and when she received the news of Basil's death, she shed not a tear, but said only, "This is precisely the end I expected he would meet. Some of these much-missed employees have moved on to enjoy stellar careers assisting far more luminous literary figures than I: Among the most notable of their new employers have been Nobel-nominated novelist William Shatner, self-help guru Caesar Zedd, and the anonymous copywriter of the Calvin Klein advertisements; indeed, our very special Emily Vlick, who was with us seven years, accepted a position with the late V. Andrews, who has produced more novels following her demise than she did during her lifetime.

    The way you made up footnote sources for fabricated facts in high-school English reports. Oh, come on, yes, you did.

    He included a history of the poems in the beginning of the book, followed by the poems, some having never been in any of his books. Later that year, Charnel House published two limited editions of the book: Greenberg, Martin H. The Dean Koontz Companion. New York: Berkeley Books. In the fields of life, a harvest.

    With winter here and autumn gone,. But under winter fields so cold,. Life is a gift that must be given back. Hard to accept, this earthly procession.

    Death is no fearsome mystery. He is well known to thee and me. He had no secrets he can keep. Turn not thy face from Death away. Care not he takes our breath away.

    Not thy master but servant to. In the real world. Life without meaning. We find a mission. Without a gleaning. Nowhere can a secret keep. Keep it in your own dark heart,. After many years have buried. Only you can then exhume.

    Vibrations in a wire. Ice crystals. Cold fire. Defense against. Living in the modern age,. So it seems in darker hours. Evil wins, kindness cowers. Ruled by violence and vice. We all stand upon thin ice.

    Are we brave or are we mice,. Dare we linger, dare we skate? Dare we laugh or celebrate,. Preserve the ice at any price? Faraway in China,. Bitter as dragon tears,. Although life is seasoned. Bad times are only rice,. Those who would banish the sin of greed. Those who seek to banish envy as well,. Those with passion to change the world,.

    Evil is no faceless stranger,. Evil has a wholesome, hometown face,. Evil walks among us, wearing a mask. Beaches, surfers, California girls. Wind scented with fabulous dreams.

    Bougainvillea, groves of oranges. Stars are born, everything gleams. A weather change. Shadows fall. New scent upon the wind — decay. Cocaine, Uzis, drive-by shootings. Death is a banker. Everyone pays.

    From barren sands to verdant fields,. Dawn is unable to fade the night. Winter that year was strange and gray. Those with passion to change the world, look on themselves as saints, as pearls, and by the launching of noble endeavor, flee dreaded introspection forever.


    This odd itinerary of scenes - enigmatic, strange, unreal - leaves us unsure how to feel. No postmortem journey is rife with more mystery than life. Tremulous skeins of destiny flutter so ethereally around me - but then I feel its embrace is that of steel. On the road that I taken, one day, walking, I awaken, amazed to see where I have come, where I'm going, where I'm from. This is not the path I thought. This is not the place I sought. This is not the dream I bought, just a fever of fate I've caught.

    I'll change highways in a while, at the crossroads, one more mile. My path is lit by my own fire. I'm going only where I desire. On the road that I have taken, one day, walking, I awaken.

    One day, walking, I awaken, on the road that I have taken. Love is the road that leads to hope. Courage is the motor that drives us. We travel out of darkness into faith. They embrace that concept happily. But some mysteries bite and bark and come to get you in the dark. Darkness devours every shining day. Darkness demands and always have its way. Darkness listens, watches, waits. Darkness claims the day and celebrates.

    Sometimes in silence darkness comes. Sometimes with a gleeful banging of drums. We can embrace love, it's not to late. Why do we sleep, instead, with hate? Belief requires no suspension to see that Hell is our invention. We make Hell real; we stoke its fires.

    The Book Of Counted Sorrows

    And in its flames our hope expires. Heaven, too, is merely our creation. We can grant ourselves our own salvation. All that's requires is imagination. What purpose lies behind the strife? Whence do we come, where are we bound? These cold questions echo and resound Through each day, each lonely night.

    We long to find the splendid light That will cast a revelatory beam Upon the meaning of the human dream. Courage, love, friendship, Compassion, and empathy Lift us above the simple beasts And define humanity. From the cradle to the bier, The heart must persevere. One door away from Heaven, But it lies beyond our power To open the door to Heaven And enter when we choose.

    One door away from Heaven, And the key is ours to lose. One door away from Heaven, But, oh, the entry dues. Night has patterns that can be read less by the living than by the dead. In each man's troubled heart, and incision would reveal a unique, shameful wrong. Stranger fiends hide here in human guise than reside in the valleys of Hell. But goodness, kindness and love arise in the heart of the poor beast, as well. And nothing lasts forever; that's a truth we have to face.

    We spend vast energy and time plotting death for one another. No one, nowhere, is ever safe. Not father, child, or mother.

    Dean Koontz - The Book of Counted Sorrows - PDF Free Download

    Is the end of the world a-coming? Is that the devil they hear humming? Are those doomsday bells a-ringing? Is that the Devil they hear singing? Or are their dark fears exaggerated? Are these doom-criers addlepated? Those who fear the coming of all Hells are those who should be feared themselves.

    There's no escape From death's embrace, though you lead it on a merry chase.

    The dogs of death enjoy the chase. Just see the smile on each hound's face. The chase can't last; the dogs must feed. It will come to pass with terrifying speed.

    The hounds, the hounds come baying at his heels. The hounds! The breath of death he feels. The Book of Counted Sorrows. Visit Seller's Storefront. PayPal preferred.

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