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Vicky Nathan wants to read
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by Raymond Carver
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A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway
“But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.”
Ernest Hemingway
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Tell the Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt
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“Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg before it is broken.”
M.F.K. Fisher
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In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust
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What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami
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Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
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The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kundera
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Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
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How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia by Mohsin Hamid
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More of Vicky's books…
Rainer Maria Rilke
“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.”
Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Jodi Lynn Anderson
“Did you know I always thought you were braver than me? Did you ever guess that that was why I was so afraid? It wasn't that I only loved some of you. But I wondered if you could ever love more than some of me.

I knew I'd miss you. But the surprising thing is, you never leave me. I never forget a thing. Every kind of love, it seems, is the only one. It doesn't happen twice. And I never expected that you could have a broken heart and love with it too, so much that it doesn't seem broken at all. I know young people look at me and think my youth seems so far away, but it's all around me, and you're all around me. Tiger Lily, do you think magic exists if it can be explained? I can explain why I loved you, I can explain the theory of evolution that tells me why mermaids live in Neverland and nowhere else. But it still feels magic.

The lost boys all stood at our wedding. Does it seem odd to you that they could have stood at a wedding that wasn't yours and mine? It does to me. and I'm sorry for it, and for a lot, and I also wouldn't change it.

It is so quiet here. Even with all the trains and the streets and the people. It's nothing like the jungle. The boys have grown. Everything has grown. Do you think you will ever grow? I hope not. I like to think that even if I change and fade away, some other people won't.

I like to think that one day after I die, at least one small particle of me - of all the particles that will spread everywhere - will float all the way to Neverland, and be part of a flower or something like that, like that poet said, the one that your Tik Tok loved. I like to think that nothing's final, and that everyone gets to be together even when it looks like they don't, that it all works out even when all the evidence seems to say something else, that you and I are always young in the woods, and that I'll see you sometime again, even if it's not with any kind of eyes I know of or understand. I wouldn't be surprised if that is the way things go after all - that all things end happy. Even for you and Tik Tok. and for you and me.

Always,
Your Peter

P.S. Please give my love to Tink. She was always such a funny little bug.”
Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

Jeanette Winterson
“Now that I have lost you I cannot allow you to develop, you must be a photograph not a poem.”
Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body

Darnell Lamont Walker
“What happens if one day we’re standing in a kitchen, dishwasher empty, oven and air full, you’re washing and I’m drying, and the ring slips down the drain and flushes out to sea?”
Darnell Lamont Walker, Book of She

Jeanette Winterson
“Explore me,' you said and I collected my ropes, flasks and maps, expecting to be back home soon. I dropped into the mass of you and I cannot find the way out. Sometimes I think I’m free, coughed up like Jonah from the whale, but then I turn a corner and recognise myself again. Myself in your skin, myself lodged in your bones, myself floating in the cavities that decorate every surgeon’s wall. That is how I know you. You are what I know.”
Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body

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