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IT STILL SEEMS infinitely mysterious to me that there are some of us who have built not a life but a self,
It is like the rubbing of two sticks together to make a fire, the act of reading, an improbable pedestrian task that leads to heat and light.
he spit out with a mixture of condescension and disbelief, as though he had found a pit in a fruit that had promised to be seedless.
