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“...I told the taxi driver the story of what happened the last time we went to the airport. They both laughed, reminding me that I could talk when I was in the mood. My obstacles were often my own.”
― Bed
― Bed
“Does this story have a happy ending?" Bobby asked.
"There is no such thing as an ending," she said. "Good things come out of bad things and bad things come out of good things, but it always continues. It's as in life. Books are life. There is just the part you read. They start before that. They finish after it. Everything carries on forever. You are only in it for those pages, for a tiny window of time.”
―
"There is no such thing as an ending," she said. "Good things come out of bad things and bad things come out of good things, but it always continues. It's as in life. Books are life. There is just the part you read. They start before that. They finish after it. Everything carries on forever. You are only in it for those pages, for a tiny window of time.”
―
“The ecstasy of seeing her versus the agony of losing her, a million births and a million deaths.”
― Bed
― Bed
“This temper had been passed down from his father, and his father in turn before that. Parents breed parrots. Only exceptional offspring grow their own bright plumage, capable of penetrating the dull grey down in which they are born covered.”
― Mobile Library
― Mobile Library
“What if you knew, now, that you wouldn't leave anything behind. That you couldn't leave anything behind. That no one will remember you, and no one will have anything to remember you by. That you are, in fact, just someone who was there, and that's it.”
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“Risero entrambi, ricordandomi che sapevo parlare, quando ero dell'umore giusto. I miei ostacoli erano spesso miei, appunto.”
― Bed
― Bed
“Soon they would spend all day there, locked up inside the truck, reading undisturbed. There were no windows but there were thousands of windows, in every book on every shelf.”
― Mobile Library
― Mobile Library
“Time had erased me a little, rubbed me out. I had faded like a photograph buried under soil. I was tanned and older, weathered and experienced and fat. I was what we all become, a by-product of the torture of ourselves.”
― Bed
― Bed
“He hasn’t run away from home. You can’t run away from what you don’t have.”
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