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In the end, what does it all mean anyway? And what does it matter? Is a person just a pile of junk?
“I think of it like a tree, because every tree is really two trees. There’s the tree with the branches that everyone sees, and then there’s the upside-down root tree, growing the opposite way.
People, you’ll find, aren’t usually all good or all bad. Sometimes they’re a little bit good and a whole lot bad. And sometimes, they’re mostly good with a dash of bad. And most of us, well, we fall in the middle somewhere.”
“In my humble opinion, love is when a person believes that he, she, or it can’t live without some other he, she, or it.
No one actually needs another person or another person’s love to survive. Love, Lizzie, is when we have irrationally convinced ourselves that we do.”
It’s only to say that just because someone did something before doesn’t mean they have to do it still.”
Oh, there are so many lives. How we wish we could live them concurrently instead of one by one by one. We could select the best pieces of each, stringing them together like a strand of pearls. But that’s not how it works. A human’s life is a beautiful mess.
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