Alena

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The Cavern
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by Alister Hodge (Goodreads Author)
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Discovery
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by J.A.J. Minton (Goodreads Author)
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Drood
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See all 23 books that Alena is reading…
Book cover for A Song for the Void
There is a quiet on the sea that speaks to the hole which rests in the center of our souls. When one stands on the deck of a ship, gazing up at the night sky while far removed from the artificial lights which illuminate the world of man, ...more
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Chuck Wendig
“C’mon, please.” Lore shook her head. “He always was what he was, and he told us from the beginning. When someone tells you who they are, believe them. Isn’t that the saying? You knew who he was and who you were voting for. You probably voted for him the other times, too, you just won’t say it out loud. You took the hat off, oooh, but I bet you still own it. If I squint, I can still see it on your head.” She rolled her eyes. “Half of America put the hat on and took the mask off and that was that, and that’s where we’re at now.”
Chuck Wendig, The Staircase in the Woods

Madeline Miller
“I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.”
Madeline Miller, Circe

Anaïs Nin
“The humiliations and defeats,
given with a primitive honesty,
end not in frustration, despair or futility,
but in hunger, an ecstatic devouring hunger—for more life.”
- Anais Nin”
Anaïs Nin

Madeline Miller
“He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none.”
Madeline Miller, Circe

Josh Rountree
“The crowd cheered louder. Blood pounded hard in my head, began to drown out everything else. The performers continued to trade fire, and I wondered at how clinical the whole thing felt. A sanitized version of the violence that had plagued the prairie ever since the European settlers decided to press their way West. This was a performance for romantics, who read about such struggles in dime novels and eastern newspapers. They clapped and laughed and traded jabs with one another about how many Indians they’d have killed if just given the chance and a well-oiled long rifle. My stomach boiled and my heart hurt. None of these people had felt someone’s hot blood staining their fine clothes. None of them had smelled death up close. They cheered as the occasional Indian tumbled from his horse, felled by Frank’s imaginary bullets, but there was no question the victims would all get back up again. Limbs still attached. Chest cavities untroubled by flattened chunks of lead. It was a celebration of death, and I hated it.”
Josh Rountree, The Unkillable Frank Lightning

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