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We suffered failures of imagination just like everyone else, our daring was wanting, and our daily contentment too nearly adequate for us to give it up.
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Without work, so much of one's identity just evaporates.
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I know what to do with my life. I just don't know what to do with this one night.
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I think it's a very bad idea for someone to start writing for a readership.
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Everything was always something but something – and here was the rub – could never be everything.
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It is forgivable to say nothing out of ignorance; it's inexcusable to remain silent once awareness dawns.
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All broken hearts are circumstantial. Every lovelorn jerk is the victim of bad timing, good intentions, and someone else’s poor decision making.
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We had the great good fortune and shortcomings of character that marked every generation that had never seen war.