I hate it when books try too hard to be poetic & "quotable". It feels too disingenuous. This book, however, had a couple of lines that have left me floored so far. I think bc it isn't trying to be some lyrical nonsense, so it hits harder.
"Come evening the sun burned like a pyre in the west, and soon after the stars would gather to mourn it's passing, glistening like tearful eyes, sometimes falling."
— Oct 14, 2024 03:52AM
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