"I didn't think it was fair to pretend to give of myself when I was so selfishly consumed with my own drives."

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They passed out of the shade beneath the eaves and flew into sunglare and silence and it was an action she only partly saw, elusive and mutely beautiful, the birds so sunstruck they were consumed by light, disembodied, turned into something sheer and fleet and scatter-bright.

— Don DeLillo