That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.
Show me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy.
I want to know you moved and breathed in the same world with me.
Can’t repeat the past?…Why of course you can!
“You'll find another.”
God! Banish the
thought. Why don't you tell me that 'if the girl had been worth having she'd
have waited for you'? No, sir, the girl really worth having won't wait for
anybody.
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