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If a crowd can flinch, they flinch. More than a thousand men flinch under the fist of just one. I don't see what the women do.
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Stories don't always have happy endings." This stopped him. Because they didn't, did they? That's one thing the monster had definitely taught him. Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn't expect.
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But, somehow, Wilf knows. Somehow, Wilf always knows.
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Librarians are tour-guides for all of knowledge.
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As to how you'll help me," he says. "Well, we have met the Answer, have we not?" He turns back to look at us, his eyes glinting. "It's time for them to meet the Ask.
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Why can't we learn to live with how we are? And whatever anybody chooses is okay by the rest of us?
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No one escapes from a war. No one. Not even the survivors. You accept things that would appall you at any other time because life has temporarily lost all meaning.
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We are the choices we make.
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...That it's making a dare to the world and when has the world ever let us win a dare?
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We can save the world," I say, trying to smile. "You and me.
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To say you have no choice is to relieve yourself of responsibility.
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It's always nice when two people who don't got no one else find each other as friends.
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Just cuz yer going there and I'm staying here," I say. "It don't mean we're parting." "No," she says and I know she understands. "No, it certainly doesn't." "I ain't parting from you again," I say, still looking at our fingers. "Not even in my head.
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Ah, well, then you've never stood on a beach as the waves came crashing in, the water stretching out from you until it's beyond sight, moving and blue and alive and so much bigger than even the black beyond seems because the ocean hides what it contains.
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...the lesson of forever and ever is that knowing a man's mind ain't knowing the man.
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Worst is the one who knows better and does nothing.
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People say they want freedom, but what they really want is freedom from worry. If I take care of their problems, they don't mind being told what to do.
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And it hurts her, but it's an okay hurt, but it hurts still, but it's good, but it hurts.
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It's not the mistakes I made but how I responded to them.
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Now that I've seen her, I can't stop seeing her.
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Her accent's funny, different from mine, different from anyone in Prentisstown's. Her lips make different kinds of outlines for the letters, like they're swooping down on them from above, pushing them into shape, telling them what to say. In Prentisstown, everyone talks like they're sneaking up on their words, ready to club them from behind.
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Cept for Ben, who I can’t describe much further without seeming soft and stupid and like a boy, so I won’t, just to say that I never knew my pa, but if you woke up one day and had a choice of picking one from a selecshun, if someone said, here, then, boy, pick who you want, then Ben wouldn’t be the worst choice you could make that morning.
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Everything that's happened has brought me here, to this place, with this knife in my hand, and something worth saving.
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War makes monsters out of men.