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The Sympathizer
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by Viet Thanh Nguyen (Goodreads Author)
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The Prague Cemetery
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Letters, 1925-1975
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Gabriel García Márquez
“He dug so deeply into her sentiments that in search of interest he found love, because by trying to make her love him he ended up falling in love with her. Petra Cotes, for her part, loved him more and more as she felt his love increasing”
Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Christopher Moore
“How do you know, when you think blue — when you say blue — that you are talking about the same blue as anyone else?

You cannot get a grip on blue.

Blue is the sky, the sea, a god’s eye, a devil’s tail, a birth, a strangulation, a virgin’s cloak, a monkey’s ass. It’s a butterfly, a bird, a spicy joke, the saddest song, the brightest day.

Blue is sly, slick, it slides into the room sideways, a slippery trickster.

This is a story about the color blue, and like blue, there’s nothing true about it. Blue is beauty, not truth. ‘True blue’ is a ruse, a rhyme; it’s there, then it’s not. Blue is a deeply sneaky color.”
Christopher Moore, Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d'Art

Lemony Snicket
“Life is a conundrum of esoterica.”
Lemony Snicket, The Reptile Room

Margaret Atwood
“Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy: that you're strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.”
Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride

Robert Kurvitz
“There is nothing. Only warm, primordial blackness. Your conscience ferments in it — no larger than a single grain of malt. You don't have to do anything anymore. Ever. Never ever.

An inordinate amount of time passes. It is utterly void of struggle. No ex-wives are contained within it

[...] The song of death is sweet and endless... But what is this? Somewhere in the sore, bloated *man-meat* around you — a sensation!

[...] The limbed and headed machine of pain and undignified suffering is firing up again. It wants to walk the desert. Hurting. Longing. Dancing to disco music.”
Robert Kurvitz

year in books
Beau
997 books | 20 friends

Polina
516 books | 48 friends

Lev Sol...
6 books | 9 friends

Alex Lo...
13 books | 28 friends

Valtter...
68 books | 133 friends

Petra
825 books | 9 friends

Savva D...
3 books | 196 friends

Matt'S ...
69 books | 84 friends

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