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Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who's in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It's like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven't seen in a long time.
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As long as an individual's alive, he will undergo experience in some form or other, and those experiences are stored up instant by instant. To stop experiencin' is to die.
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Like it or not, it's the society we live in. Even the standard of right and wrong has been subdivided, made sophisticated. Within good, there's fashionable good and unfashionable good, and ditto for bad. Within fashionable good, there's formal and then there's casual; there's hip, there's cool, there's trendy, there's snobbish. Mix 'n' match.
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You know what it’s like when you’re trying to fall asleep and it only makes you more wide awake?
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The power to concentrate was the most important thing. Living without this power would be like opening one’s eyes without seeing anything.
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If you want everything to be nice and straight all the time, then go live in a world made with a triungular ruler.
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Many are the women who can take their clothes off seductively, but women who can charm as they dress?
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A strange, terrific force unlike anything I've ever experienced is sprouting in my heart, taking root there, growing. Shut up behind my rib cage, my warm heart expands and contracts independent of my will--over and over.
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Please remember: things are not what they seem.
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It's true though: time moves in its own special way in the middle of the night," the bartender says, loudly striking a book match and lighting a cigarette. "You can't fight it.
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"I believe you," she whispers after a moment. "Please find my mind."
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The worst thoughts usually strike in the dead of the night.
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Somewhere in his body--perhaps in the marrow of his bones--he would continue to feel her absence.
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I find myself thinking about my ongoing existence as a human being and the path that lies ahead of me. Though of course these thoughts lead to but one place - death.
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When I start to write, I don't have any plan at all. I just wait for the story to come.
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Once you let yourself grow close to someone, cutting the ties could be painful.
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Age certainly hadn't conferred any smarts on me. Character maybe, but mediocrity is a constant, as one Russian writer put it. Russian writers have a way with aphorisms. They probably spend all winter thinking them up.
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Please think of me like an endangered species and just observe me quietly from far away. If you try to talk to me or touch me casually, I may get intimidated and bite you. So please be careful.
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It's the same with menus and men and just about anything else: we think we're choosing things for ourselves, but in fact we may not be choosing anything. It could be that everthing's being decided in advance and we pretend we're making choices. Free will may be an illusion. I often think that.
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He sometimes wondered if she had become involved with him just so that she could cry in someone's arms. Maybe she can't cry alone, and that's why she needs me.
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One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds.
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If you think God’s there, He is. If you don’t, He isn’t. And if that’s what God’s like, I wouldn’t worry about it.
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For some reason all the middle-aged women he knew were very efficient.
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Whenever I get into something, I shut out everything else.