"The pleasure of talking is the inextinguishable passion of a woman, coeval with the act of breathing."

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At times the whole sky was ringed in shooting points and puckers of light gathering and falling, pulsing, fading, rhythmical as breathing. All of a piece. As if the sky were a pattern of nerves and our thought and memories traveled across it. As if the sky were one gigantic memory for us all.

— Louise Erdrich