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No,' he said, 'memory's a poor thing to have. It's your own real hair and mouth and arms and eyes and hands I want. I didn't know I could ever love anything so much.
— Philip Pullman
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When he went back to the fire he knelt and smoothed her hair as she slept and he said if he were God he would have made the world just so and no different.
— Cormac McCarthy
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