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Strangers I Know
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Famesick
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by Lena Dunham (Goodreads Author)
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Jonathan Safran Foer
“I think and think and think, I‘ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.”
Jonathan Safran Foer

Jonathan Safran Foer
“I feel too much. That's what's going on.' 'Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel in the wrong ways?' 'My insides don't match up with my outsides.' 'Do anyone's insides and outsides match up?' 'I don't know. I'm only me.' 'Maybe that's what a person's personality is: the difference between the inside and outside.' 'But it's worse for me.' 'I wonder if everyone thinks it's worse for him.' 'Probably. But it really is worse for me.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

Jonathan Safran Foer
“Why didn't I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

Jonathan Safran Foer
“I hope that one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not understand for someone you love.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

Sylvia Plath
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

208607 The Book Cult — 512 members — last activity Mar 19, 2022 01:06PM
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