"Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!"

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It must have meant something, though, that at this turn of my life I grabbed up a book. Because it was in books that I would find, for the next few years, my lovers. They were men, not boys. They were self-possessed and sardonic, with a ferocious streak in them, reserves of gloom.

— Alice Munro