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I Who Have Never ...
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Lolita
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The Fire Next Time
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J.R.R. Tolkien
“Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Eckhart Tolle
“You are not IN the universe, you ARE the universe, an intrinsic part of it. Ultimately you are not a person, but a focal point where the universe is becoming conscious of itself. What an amazing miracle.”
Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth

Milan Kundera
“Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.”
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Diana Gabaldon
“When I was small, I never wanted to step in puddles. Not because of any fear of drowned worms or wet stockings; I was by and large a grubby child, with a blissful disregard for filth of any kind.
It was because I couldn't bring myself believe that that perfect smooth expanse was no more than I thin film of water over solid earth. I believed it was an opening into some fathomless space. Sometimes, seeing the tiny ripples caused by my approach, I thought the puddle impossibly deep, a bottomless sea in which the lazy coil of a tentacle and gleam of scale lay hidden, with the threat of huge bodies and sharp teeth adrift and silent in the far-down depths.
And then, looking down into reflection, I would see my own round face and frizzled hair against a featureless blue sweep, and think instead that the puddle was the entrance to another sky. If I stepped in there, I would drop at once, and keep on falling, on and on, into blue space.
The only time I would dare walk though a puddle was at twilight, when the evening stars came out. If I looked in the water and saw one lighted pinprick there, I could slash through unafraid--for if I should fall into the puddle and on into space, I could grab hold of the star as I passed, and be safe.
Even now, when I see a puddle in my path, my mind half-halts--though my feet do not--then hurries on, with only the echo of the though left behind.
What if, this time, you fall?
Diana Gabaldon, Voyager

Milan Kundera
“A single metaphor can give birth to love.”
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

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