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Kindle Notes & Highlights
A woman can’t bloody well pick her signature drink without sampling the whole bar.”
that part of the Keats poem “Ode on a Grecian Urn” about how the breath right before you kiss your beloved is the sweetest one of all, because you realize you’re about to get exactly what you want.
“I love you,” he said, picking up the helmet again and walking to the door. “I love you, too,” I said as he walked through it. But it hadn’t been enough.
