This one I gave up on … too much drugs and cursing.
“When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.” “Victory in battle isn’t one glorious fight. It’s a million tiny … Continue reading
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Rat-a-tat-tat. The woodpecker’s head is a ferocious blur, then perfectly still again. What goes through its head, Guillaume wonders, during those moments of contemplative silence? Is the woodpecker asking itself: who am I, really, if I am not pecking wood? Am I, God forbid, just a bird? – The Paris Hours
Read my last book in a day … on to the next one. via PressSync