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—
31 voters
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currently-reading (2)
read (1070)
graphic-novels (474)
marvel-comics (151)
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horror (110)
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dc-comics (88)
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history (81)
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psychology (79)
fantasy (74)


“These are the kind of wrong thoughts people have who are spending too much time alone. They start unpacking vast cosmic bullshit from gum wrappers, and then they chew it up, blow a bubble, ride that bubble up into some even stupider place.”
― The Only Good Indians
― The Only Good Indians

“This is all you really need, isn’t it? Just one good friend. Somebody you can be stupid with. Somebody who’ll peel you up off the ground, prop you against the wall.”
― The Only Good Indians
― The Only Good Indians

“It was his punishment, to become Blackfeet, to be Piegan. To live on the reservation he'd created, the situation he was already leaving behind. To replace his own life with an Indian one, and thus know firsthand the end result of his policies. An end result generations away from last Winter, just so he could see the scope of what he'd done, that it still had traceable effect. So that, in a sense, he could be inflicting it upon himself.
He nodded, accepted this.”
― Ledfeather
He nodded, accepted this.”
― Ledfeather
“We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore.”
―
―

“Claire.
It was the last candle left within the Indian Agent. The last glimmer.
He curled himself around it to keep it alive, and when the storm inhaled he studied his right hand, could feel her beside him in the carriage that night and, as if he could insist on this, looked up the depression he was calling a road, for the cabman's blindered horse, huffing through the snow, its lanterns swinging. Claire waiting for him on the worn velvet seat.”
―
It was the last candle left within the Indian Agent. The last glimmer.
He curled himself around it to keep it alive, and when the storm inhaled he studied his right hand, could feel her beside him in the carriage that night and, as if he could insist on this, looked up the depression he was calling a road, for the cabman's blindered horse, huffing through the snow, its lanterns swinging. Claire waiting for him on the worn velvet seat.”
―
Benjamin’s 2024 Year in Books
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