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And indeed, as night drew on the sky like a bodice, lacing it with the last beams of sunlight
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The Marsh King raised himself up and ushered me out the door with the air of a host who has just realized he is one guest away from a comfortable nap.
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"We like the wrong sort of girls", they wrote. "They are usually the ones worth writing about.
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I do not want to muddle about with Politicks, and whenever two Folk of any sort are in a room together there are always Politicks to be muddled in.
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Everyone is a criminal! We are beset on all sides by antirevolutionary forces. Naturally, then, humans fall into three categories: the criminal, the not-yet-criminal, and the not-yet-caught.
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But a person’s smell and their alarms and borrowed shirts and secret words linger for a long time. Much longer than a house.
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When you can change something just by saying a word, that is magic.
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The bears, over the years, have developed a primitive but heartfelt Buddhist discipline. Beneath the cinnamon trees they practice the repetition of the Growling Sutra.
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Bran felt terribly sorry for his sisters, but it was hardly his fault that the world was so determined to make girls suffer a great deal more than boys. He hadn’t built the world. It had nothing to do with him.
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Her father’s shadow looked sadly down at her. “You can never forget what you do in a war, September my love. No one can. You won’t forget your war either.
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Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.
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We’ve made too many movies, you and I. Or too few. Always too few. Too many to have any meaning, too few to say what we meant.
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...the beginning is where the end gets born.
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I know you loved both he and I, the way a mother can love two sons. And no one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.
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Can you imagine what it would do to a person, to know that they were standing between three people and that marrow-deep, desperate need?
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When little ones say they want to go home, they almost never mean it. They mean they are tired of this particular game and would like to start another.
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He ran like if he kept running he could escape the last thousand years.
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When you don’t need anything anymore, the only thing you need is stories, and songs, and beauty, and spectacle. That’s the good stuff. The stuff that reminds us who we are.
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It's Survival of Them Who's Best at Nicking Things, girl!
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First, the avid student must be aware that when the world was young it knew only seven things: water, life and death, salt, night, birds and the length of an hour.
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You have to have the right sort of stone. Peridot for mothers, girasol for lovers, sapphire for sadness, and garnet for joy.
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We like the wrong sorts of girls, they wrote. They are usually the ones worth writing about.
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When you’ve lost your girl, it doesn’t much matter where you live. Everywhere is just The Place She Isn’t, and that’s the front and back of it.
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What was magical at two in the morning was tawdry and cheap and dangerous to your health at two in the afternoon.