Rosa Cleiren

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The Book of Matth...
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  (page 15 of 76)
"heb te veel vragen gekregen over mijn katholieke ketting dus ik heb beslist het heft in eigen handen te nemen en de bijbel te lezen 📖🤓 (nee mopje ik heb per ongeluk een vak opgenomen uit theologie en nu moet ik wel)" Apr 27, 2026 04:27AM

 
Het archief
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The Master and Ma...
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Rosa Cleiren Rosa Cleiren said: " mama didn't raise a quitter maar wel een pauzeerder (na de examens geef ik deze weer een kans) ...more "

 
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Don DeLillo
“All plots tend to move deathward. This is the nature of plots. Political plots, terrorist plots, lovers’ plots, narrative plots, plots that are part of children’s games. We edge nearer death every time we plot. It is like a contract that all must sign, the plotters as well as those who are the targets of the plot.”
Don DeLillo, White Noise

Herman Melville
“Ah, happiness courts the light so we deem the world is gay. But misery hides aloof so we deem that misery there is none.”
Herman Melville, Bartleby the Scrivener

Annie Dillard
“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living.”
Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

Herman Melville
“I would prefer not to.”
Herman Melville, Bartleby the Scrivener

Gabriel García Márquez
“But the Indian woman explained that the most fearsome part of the sickness of insomnia was not the impossibility of sleeping, for the body did not feel any fatigue at all, but its inexorable evolution toward a more critical manifestation: a loss of memory. She meant that when the sick person became used to his state of vigil, the recollection of his childhood began to be erased from his memory, then the name and notion of things, and finally the identity of people and even the awareness of his own being, until he sank into a kind of idiocy that had no past.”
Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

1157676 book club :D — 6 members — last activity Mar 22, 2021 04:35AM
hello guys ik dacht dat dit wel grappig zou zijn
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