“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
―
―
“I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.”
― A Room of One’s Own
― A Room of One’s Own
“Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.”
― The Lathe of Heaven
― The Lathe of Heaven
Deep’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Deep’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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