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Time is not a solid, like wood, but a fluid, like water or the wind. It doesn't come neatly cut into evensized lenghts, into decades and centuries. Nevertheless, for our purposes we have to pretend it does. The end of any history is a lie in which we all agree to conspire.
All of the dead are in the hands of the living
She's the kind of woman who wants what she doesn't have and gets what she wants and then despises what she gets
Nostalgia for him seizes her by the throat
Hope was the worst. As long as she had hope, how was she supposed to get on with her life?
It's astonishing what people will refuse to belive
Touch her and you'd get burned
They are as happy as they can be, given who they are. Though if they'd been different people they might have been happier
Very beautiful people have that effect, she thinks, they obliterate you
If you touched her, some of her might come off on you. She was contagious, and better left alone