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Wednesday
Jan242018

Nina George

Books are more than doctors, of course. Some novels are loving, lifelong companions; some give you a clip around the ear; others are friends who wrap you in warm towels when you've got those autumn blues. And some...well, some are pink candy floss that tingles in your brain for three seconds and leaves a blissful voice. Like a short, torrid love affair.

We cannot decide to love. We cannot compel anyone to love us. There's no secret recipe, only love itself. And we are at its mercy--there's nothing we can do.

Loving requires so much courage and so little expectation.

Memories are like wolves. You can’t lock them away and hope they leave you alone.

Perdu reflected that is was a common misconception that booksellers looked after books. They look after people.

Reading—an endless journey; a long, indeed never-ending journey that made one more temperate as well as more loving and kind.

With all due respect, what you read is more important in the long term than the man you marry, ma chère Madame.

All the love, all the dead, all the people we've known. They are the rivers that feed our sea of souls. If we refuse to remember them, that sea will dry up too.



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