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Careless talk costs lives.
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Where I fail in accuracy, I hope I make up for it in plausibility.
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But people need lift, too. People don't get moving, they don't soar, they don't achieve great heights, without someone buoying them up.
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Please come back soon. The window is always open.
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...unless you were doing them a favor by killing them. Then, you'd let them down if you didn't, if you couldn't make yourself.
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Even when you’re flying high and steady, the weight doesn’t go away—it’s just balanced by lift. I have worked pretty hard over the past year and a half to keep my life in balance. But the weight’s still there, waiting for an increase in gravity to pull me earthward again.
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It's like being raised by wolves -- you don't realize you're not one yourself until someone points it out to you. Sometimes it makes me so mad that not everyone treats me just like another wolf.
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If I am very lucky - I mean if I am clever about it - I will get myself shot. Here, soon.
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Lucky for me I didn’t know. Why lucky for her? Not lucky for the people she was protecting, but lucky for Róża. She didn’t have to choose.
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The soaring mountains rose around her, and the poets’ waters glittered beneath her in the valleys of memory—hosts of golden daffodils, Swallows and Amazons, Peter Rabbit.
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There’s glory and honour in being chosen. But not much room for free will.
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Don’t you think it makes them stronger when you give them someone to despise?
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It's like being in love, discovering your best friend.
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I realized I would be forced to run away from home if someone tried to arrange a marriage for me. I didn't want to think about it.
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The quick, sudden terror of exploding bombs is not the same as the never-ending, bone-sapping fear of discovery and capture. It never goes away. There isn’t ever any relief, never the possibility of an ‘All Clear’ siren. You always feel a little bit sick inside, knowing the worst might happen at any moment.
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If you're scared, do something.
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You can come back to friendship. You can let it drop, for five years or ten years, and come back to it.
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For the pleasure of giving, because what's the point of just having? If I give a thing, I remember how happy we both were when I made the gift.
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The fuss made over the chickens at the checkpoints is not to be believed. Unlike me they had their own papers.
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I AM A COWARD.
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It makes you very uncomfortable to realize that your emotional attachment to something is an indulgence.
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It's impossible to stall a Lizzie.
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And I envied her that she had chosen her work herself and was doing what she wanted to do. I don't suppose I had any idea what I 'wanted' and so I was chosen, not choosing. There's glory and honor in being chosen. But not much room for free will.
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Maddie quickly pulled down the blackout curtains over her bright and vulnerable soul.