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Their feathery pages were flimsy, thin, and near the ends of their current lives. Their next lives were as dust.
The man had died like this because of his mouth, not because of the manuscripts for which Timbouctou had become famous.
“Heat rises, but it also scorches the earth when it is hungry,” she said. “That fire is hungry.”
Education and the future were important, but family was the true elixir of life.
They seem to want to destroy all things that are about knowledge, history, and free thought.”
“It’s black because it is so full of words, there is no space untouched.”
“You’re a terrible writer,” Faro said over her shoulder. “But you’re a good reader.”