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Rising from the pew, he headed to the little chapel, just off the altar, dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. He had been hiding behind her skirts his whole life, and as he knelt before the chapel’s rack of tall blue candles, he felt
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“Trustin’ a woman is like walkin’ in California,” Coydog would say. “You know there’s bound to be a quake sometimes but you just keep on walkin’ anyways. What else could you do?”
― The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey
― The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey
“She just smiled, said that she loved books more than anything, and started telling him excitedly what each of the ones in her lap was about. And Ove realised that he wanted to hear her talking about the things she loved for the rest of his life.”
― A Man Called Ove
― A Man Called Ove
“Every voice raised against racism chips away at its power. We can't afford to stay silent.”
― Why I'm No Longer Talking to White People About Race
― Why I'm No Longer Talking to White People About Race
“The three-year-old looked as if she was ready to try to hug the cat. The cat looked as if it was ready to pick out the three-year-old from a lineup at a police station.”
― A Man Called Ove
― A Man Called Ove
“That’s how Ptolemy imagined the disposition of his memories, his thoughts: they were still his, still in the range of his thinking, but they were, many and most of them, locked on the other side a closed door that he’s lost the key for. So his memory became like secrets held away from his own mind. But these secrets were noisy things; they babbled and muttered behind the door, and so if he listened closely he might catch a snatch of something he once knew well.”
― The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey
― The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey
Clare’s 2025 Year in Books
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