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More and more I find myself at a loss for words and didn't want to hear other people talking either. Their conversations seemed false and empty. I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.
Paula McLain
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Paula McLain
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: October 7
Author
Novelist
Poet
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Fresno
California
People
Find
Conversation
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Loss
Nothing
Hear
Preferred
Looks
Either
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Feel
Alone
False
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Talking
Seemed
Made
Words
Sea
Never
Didn
Empty
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I also liked to look around at the houses surrounding the park and wonder about the people who filled them, what kinds of marriages they had and how they loved or hurt each other on any given day, and if they were happy, and whether they thought happiness was a sustainable thing.
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Dogs are easy. If their tails are up and their eyes are soft, you're in.
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All that was left for me was a terrible kind of paralysis, this waiting game, this heartbreak game.
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Nothing hurts if you don't let it.
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... and yet he could also be very charming, in a bookish, infinitely apologetic way.
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I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.
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Happiness is so awfully complicated, but freedom isn't. You're either tied down or you're not.
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This was my one brush with love. Was it love? It felt awful enough. I spent another two years crawling around in the skin of it, smoking too much and growing too thin and having stray thoughts of jumping from my balcony like a tortured heroine in a Russian novel.
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Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past each other. Maybe it was a state of mind.
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Books could be an incredible adventure. I stayed under my blanket and barely moved, and no one would have guessed how my mind raced and my heart soared with stories.
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There was only today to throw yourself into without thinking about tomorrow, let alone forever. To keep you from thinking, there was liquor, an ocean's worth at least, all the usual vices and plenty of rope to hang yourself with. Love is a beautiful liar.
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I miss good old-fashioned honorable people just trying to make something of life. Simply, without hurting anyone else. I know that makes me a sap.
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But love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.
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I'd had my share of rain. My mother's illness ... had weighed on me, but the years before had been heavy, too. I was only twenty eight.
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I'd never met anyone so vibrant or alive. He moved like light.
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I knew that I could hate him all I wanted for the way he was hurting me, but I couldn’t ever stop loving him, absolutely, for what he was.
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I would gladly have climbed out of my skin and into his that night, because I believed that was what love meant.
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Though I often looked for one, I finally had to admit that there could be no cure for Paris.
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It was our favorite part of the day, this in-between time, and it always seemed to last longer than it should--a magic and lavender space unpinned from the hours around it, between worlds.
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