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She knew what it was to wait for someone who would never come home. She knew that grief, like a scar, faded but never really went away.
Libba Bray
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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Really
Wait
Never
Went
Would
Knew
Like
Waiting
Away
Someone
Faded
Home
Scar
Come
Grief
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Careful there, Poet. I might start to believe you.
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I don't know. Sometimes, I feel nothing, and I'm so afraid. Afraid I'll stop feeling anything at all. I'll just slip away inside myself...I just need to feel something A Great and Terrible Beauty, Page 177, by
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I hate high heels. Walking in high heels for eight hours a day should be forbidden by the Geneva Convention.
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Power changes everything till it is difficult to say who are the heroes and who the villains.
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All things are possible.
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We all do things we desperately wish we could undo. Those regrets just become part of who we are, along with everything else. To spend time trying to change that, well, it's like chasing clouds.
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What took you so long?” Will asked when Evie came panting into the room. He and Jericho had assembled a stack of books, which they were tucking into Will’s attaché case. “I walked to Jerusalem for the Bible. I knew you’d want an original,” Evie snapped.
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Naughty John, Naughty John, does his work with his apron on. Cuts your throat and takes your bones, sells 'em off for a coupla stones.
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Could I have a Sloe Gin Fizz, without the gin? What's the point of that, Miss? the waiter said. Tomorrow morning, Mabel said.
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So much of the literature we had to read for high school English class was filled with victimized, tragic, symbolic women who spurred the plot forward with their inevitable shunning/death/shunning-followed-by-pregnancy-followed-by-death timelines.
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But sons are a different matter to a man. More a duty than an indulgence.
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In our travels, we have come across many equations--math for understanding the universe, for making music, for mapping stars, and also for tipping, which is important. Here is our favorite equation: Us plus Them equals All of Us. It is very simple math. Try it sometime. You probably won’t even need a pencil.
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We have work to do if you are not to be a total failure like high-waisted, acid-wash jeans.
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When I dream, I dream of him. For several nights now he’s come to me, waving from a distant shore as if he’s been waiting patiently for me to arrive. He doesn’t utter a word, but his smile says everything: I’ve missed you.
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Who the heck is Don Quick-oats?
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Reality is a state of mind. To the banker, the money in his ledger book is all very real, though he doesn't actually see it or touch it. But to the Brahma, it simply doesn't exist the way the air and the earth, pain and loss do. To him, the banker's reality is folly. To the banker, the Brahma's ideas are as inconsequential as dust.
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Because 'You're perfect just the way you are,' is what your guidance counselor says. And she's an alcoholic.
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Warning: If you are insufferable, do not walk here. We shall eat you down to the marrow.
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Clothing left on the bed unfolded. Books stained with coffee spots. Tabs not paid until the last possible second. Boys kissed and then forgotten in a week’s time.
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I can see his pain, see it in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, over and over, and I understand what it costs him to hide it all.
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