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Lines from the novel, The Hours, by Michael Cunningham.
November 15, 2006Superstitions are a comfort sometimes, I don’t know why you so adamantly refuse all comfort.
Men may congratulate themselves for writing truly and passionately about the movements of nations.
Now I’d love to live in a world in which that were true.
Everybody expects you to fall with San Francisco.
That the circles of love and forbearance could not be broken.
Death, we revealed in our true dimensions, and they are surprisingly modest.
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