Mandy
https://www.goodreads.com/mandynguyen
Precious things lost are transmutable. They refuse oblivion. They simply wait to be rendered into testimonies, into stories and songs.
“We're each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?”
― The Wind's Twelve Quarters, Volume 1
― The Wind's Twelve Quarters, Volume 1
“Know ye not that there is here in this world a secret confraternity, which one might call the Company of Melancholiacs? That people there are who by natural constitution have been given a different nature and disposition than the others; that have a larger heart and a swifter blood, that wish and demand more, have stronger desires and a yearning which is wilder and more ardent than that of the common herd. They are fleet as children over whose birth good fairies have presided; their eyes are opened wider; their senses are more subtile in all their perceptions. The gladness and joy of life, they drink with the roots of their heart, the while the others merely grasp them with coarse hands.”
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“We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.”
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