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What are you doing? she asked, trying to raise herself. First, I thought I'd show you what a pity it would be if they cut off my wicked tongue.

Melina Marchetta

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Melina Marchetta
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: March 25
Screenwriter
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Carmelina Marchetta
Cutting
Show
Shows
Wicked
Thought
Raise
Firsts
Pity
First
Raises
Trying
Tongue
Would
Asked

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This is what I know. I look like my father. My father disappeared when he was seventeen years old. Hannah once told me that there is something unnatural about being older than your father ever got to be. When you can say that at the age of seventeen, it's a different kind of devastating.
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I look at him. It's odious, he says. Detention? I ask, confused. Huh? We have no idea what the other is talking about. What's odious? I ask. O.D.S, he says, pointing to his discman and obviously referring to some dropkick band. Like I really care.
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He knew he should have counted. It was the rule to count to ten in his head before he opened his mouth. It was the rule to count to ten if he wanted to smash a man in the face for saying something he didn't like. It was the rule to count to ten if instinct wasn't needed, but common sense was.
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Everyone had told him to be strong for her, but Finnikin didn't know how to be strong for himself.
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Because being part of him isn't just anything. It's kind of everything.
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So why would I want someone to be my everything when one day they might not be around? Jellicoe Road
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I hope you're not smoking in front of her,' Lucia says to him. 'Yeah, I lie in bed and puff in her face, Lucia,' he says, irritated.
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And it was this image that was stamped on the hearts and minds of all who were present that day. Of Froi of the Exiles holding the future of Lumatere in his hands.
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It’s Tolstoy, by the way,” I say as I open the door. He turns around. “What?” Shut up, I tell myself. Shut up. “The writer of Anna Karenina. Not Trotsky. Trotsky was a revolutionary who was stabbed with a pickax in Mexico in 1940. But I can understand how the T thing could confuse you.
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Froi saw the foolishness of dreamers, and he decided he'd like to die so foolish. With a dream in his heart about the possibilities, rather than a chain of hopelessness.
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What were you doing with her? I ask quietly. Apart from questioning her about your whereabouts, I was listening to the most intriguing story about my life moonlighting as a kidnapper.
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You don't die. You just... get really angry and then after you're angry you hurt a lot and then the best thing is that one day you remember something she said or did and you laugh instead of crying.
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She's tired and leans her head on his shoulder, which is the resting place for all their heads, but when Justine and Siobhan and Francesca use his body so shamelessly he doesn't feel the need to turn his head and press his mouth against their hair.
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Because without our language, we have lost ourselves. Who are we without our words?
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My father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die.
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No chance. It'd be like cutting off our hands. Then learn to live without your hands. No, because then we won't be able to do this, Ben says, giving him the finger [...]
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I want to tell him that deep down each time Hannah looked at him she was grateful it was him because Jude did something that the others didn't. He came back for her.
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I'm scared to die, I whispered as Michael walked in. He was scared to live, he said kissing my forehead.
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Where did this come from? Do you know what this is? Luca is going to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night and squirt it on his tongue. It's like drugs for ten-year-olds. Today it's Ice Magic. Tomorrow, heroin.
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No, no, no, no,no,' he gasped. 'You can't bring up your mum and dad while your hand is down there, Finke
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