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The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do.
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You can eff off, too," I say, except I don't say eff, I say what 'eff' stands for.
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Faith with proof is no faith at all.
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I want a campfire box.
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Whereas the town knows all about you already and wants to know more and wants to beat you with what it knows till how can you have any of yourself left at all?
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There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere in between.
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There's so much wonder in the world. Don't let no one tell you otherwise.
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Even when peaceful cooperation is the obvious thing, the only thing that will keep any of us alive- There are still people who won't make that choice.
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But a knife ain't just a thing, is it? It's a choice, it's something you do. A knife says yes or no, cut or not, die or don't. A knife takes a decision out of your hand and puts it in the world and it never goes back again.
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And too much information can drive a man mad. Too much information becomes just Noise. And it never, never stops.
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I was only following orders," the Mayor mocks. "The refuge of scoundrels since the dawn of time.
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... a good idea always attracts other good ideas.
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And if one day,' she said, really crying now, 'you look back and you feel bad for being so angry, if you feel bad for being so angry at me that you couldn't even speak to me, then you have to know, Conor, you have to that is was okay. It was okay. That I knew. I know, okay? I know everything you need to tell me without you having to say it out loud.
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If you ever see a war," she says, not looking up from her clipboard, "you'll learn that war only destroys. No one escapes from a war. No one. Not even the survivors.
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Life ain't fair. It ain't. Not never.
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You do not write your life with words...You write it with actions. What you think is not important. It is only important what you do.
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Doing what's right should be easy. It shouldn't be just another big mess like everything else.
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There's always beauty, if you know where to look.
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I was a hugely unchaperoned reader, and I would wander into my local public library and there sat the world, waiting for me to look at it, to find out about it, to discover who I might be inside it.
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So the good prince was a murderer and the evil queen wasn't a witch after all.
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Without a filter, a man is just chaos walking.
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So we forgive each other?" The crooked smile climbs up one more time. "Again?" And I look right into his eyes, right into him as far as I can see, because I want him to hear me, I want him to hear me with everything I mean and feel and say. "Always," I say to him. "Every time.
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...and I have this stupid little thought that Aaron didn't survive the croc attack after all, that he died but he's so pissed off at me that dying didn't stop him from coming here to kill me anyway.
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I don't know how much time passes with us just lying there, just feeling that the other is really there, really true, really alive, feeling the safety of him, his weight against mine, the roughness of his fingers touching my face, his warmth and his smell and the dustiness of his clothes, and we barely speak...