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Lost In Thought
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by Cara Bertrand (Goodreads Author)
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Steppenwolfe is now following Mike Carey's reviews
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Steppenwolfe is currently reading
Lost In Thought by Cara Bertrand
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Essential Words for the GRE by Philip Geer
Essential Words for the GRE
by Philip Geer
read in March, 2011
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Very geeky, but I'm getting a tremendous kick out of this book!
Goodreads iphone
Steppenwolfe is on page 229 of 576 of The Ground Beneath Her Feet
The Ground Beneath Her Feet by Salman Rushdie
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Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Neverwhere
by Neil Gaiman (Goodreads Author)
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1984 by George Orwell
1984
by George Orwell
read in January, 2011
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Lighting Photo Workshop by Chris Bucher
Lighting Photo Workshop
by Chris Bucher
read in January, 2011
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The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
The Time Traveler's Wife
by Audrey Niffenegger (Goodreads Author)
read in January, 2011
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Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger
Her Fearful Symmetry
by Audrey Niffenegger (Goodreads Author)
read in January, 2011
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Abit too much like Sarah Waters for my taste!
More of Steppenwolfe's books…
Neil Gaiman
“There's never been a true war that wasn't fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. The really dangerous people believe they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do. And that is what makes them dangerous.”
Neil Gaiman, American Gods

Elliot Perlman
“You would love the way he sees you. He uses you as a weapon against himself and not merely because you did”
Elliot Perlman

Neil Gaiman
“There was a girl, and her uncle sold her. Put like that it seems so simple.

No man, proclaimed Donne, is an island, and he was wrong. If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from the tragedy of others, by our island nature and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories. The shape does not change: there was a human being who was born, lived and then by some means or other, died. There. You may fill in the details from your own experience. As unoriginal as any other tale, as unique as any other life. Lives are snowflakes- forming patterns we have seen before, as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There's not a chance you'll mistake one for another, after a minute's close inspection) but still unique.

Without individuals we see only numbers, a thousand dead, a hundred thousand dead, "casualties may rise to a million." With individual stories, the statistics become people- but even that is a lie, for the people continue to suffer in numbers that themselves are numbing and meaningless. Look, see the child's swollen, swollen belly and the flies that crawl at the corners of his eyes, this skeletal limbs: will it make it easier for you to know his name, his age, his dreams, his fears? To see him from the inside? And if it does, are we not doing a disservice to his sister, who lies in the searing dust beside him, a distorted distended caricature of a human child? And there, if we feel for them, are they now more important to us than a thousand other children touched by the same famine, a thousand other young lives who will soon be food for the flies' own myriad squirming children?

We draw our lines around these moments of pain, remain upon our islands, and they cannot hurt us. They are covered with a smooth, safe, nacreous layer to let them slip, pearllike, from our souls without real pain.

Fiction allows us to slide into these other heads, these other places, and look out through other eyes. And then in the tale we stop before we die, or we die vicariously and unharmed, and in the world beyond the tale we turn the page or close the book, and we resume our lives.

A life that is, like any other, unlike any other.

And the simple truth is this: There was a girl, and her uncle sold her.”
Neil Gaiman, American Gods

Salman Rushdie
“Whenever someone who knows you disappears, you lose one version of yourself. Yourself as you were seen, as you were judged to be. Lover or enemy, mother or friend, those who know us construct us, and their several knowings slant the different facets of our characters like diamond-cutter's tools. Each such loss is a step leading to the grave, where all versions blend and end.”
Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet

Jonathan Safran Foer
“I regret that it takes a life to learn how to live.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

The Good Wife (Cooking, Food & Wine)
3 chapters   —   updated Oct 05, 2010 11:03PM
Description: A wife learns of her husband's secret and decides to kill him.
Leap of faith (Literature & Fiction)
1 chapters   —   updated Sep 02, 2010 11:26PM
Description: This story was inspired by Post Secret's Please Don't Jump mantra. Please feel free to let me know what you think!

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