Amanda Imes

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CivilWarLand in B...
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The Nickel Boys
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by Colson Whitehead (Goodreads Author)
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Last Child in the...
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Leif Enger
“This was maybe best of all. I never once expected to be someone's nice surprise.”
Leif Enger, Virgil Wander

Leif Enger
“I loved that kite, that cinnamon hound. We were old friends. I had soared and laughed with that kite. It got me out on the perimeter. I felt I had failed it somehow, and rune too, even though he would've offered the string to Leer, just as I had. Thinking it over I became a bit less angry, and more proud of the kite itself: it had refused to be flown by Leer one moment longer. It broke the line and caught the next gust out of town. A perilous beautiful move, choosing to throw yourself at the future, even if it means one day coming down in the sea.”
Leif Enger, Virgil Wander

Leif Enger
“It’s possible to perceive what is coming and still be dumbfounded when it happens.”
Leif Enger, Virgil Wander

“Elizabeth walks out into the cold evening air, not turning back now. The sky is getting darker earlier, and the scarves are coming out of the wardrobes. Summer is still keeping a lid on autumn, but it won't be long. How many more autumns for Elizabeth? How many more years of slipping on a pair of comfortable boots and walking through the leaves? One day, spring will come without her. The daffodils will always come up by the lake, but you won't always be there to see them. SO it goes; enjoy them while you can.”
Richard Osman, Thursday Murder Club #1, The Thursday Murder Club

George Saunders
“One feels such love for the little ones, such anticipation that all that is lovely in life will be known by them, such fondness for that set of attributes manifested uniquely in each: mannerisms of bravado, of vulnerability, habits of speech and mispronouncement and so forth; the smell of the hair and head, the feel of the tiny hand in yours—and then the little one is gone! Taken! One is thunderstruck that such a brutal violation has occurred in what had previously seemed a benevolent world. From nothingness, there arose great love; now, its source nullified, that love, searching and sick, converts to the most abysmal suffering imaginable.”
George Saunders, Lincoln in the Bardo

year in books
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407 books | 22 friends

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Katie K...
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Dani
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