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— Maggie Stiefvater"As I handed her the bag, the old scars on my wrist throbbed with buried memories."
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Oh, we are but soft and squishy bags of mortality rolling in a bin of sharp circumstance, leaking life until we collapse, flaccid, into our own despair.
— Christopher Moore
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He kissed me for a long moment, holding my shoulders, perhaps to keep me from pressing my whole body against his. Then he tried to lift my bag. "My God," he said. "What happened?" "I found out one may check out twenty books at a time from the school library.
— Laura Whitcomb
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