911ba01
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For if we're destroyed, the knowledge is dead...We're nothing more than dust jackets for books...so many pages to a person...
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|
fahrinheit
jackets
many
bradbury
so
ray
more
dust
destroyed
nothing
pages
to
person
knowledge
dead
|
Ray Bradbury |
1dc5822
|
Every face, every shop, bedroom window, public-house, and dark square is a picture feverishly turned--in search of what? It is the same with books. What do we seek through millions of pages?
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books
faces
shop
windows
face
shops
window
pages
search
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Virginia Woolf |
0b94b24
|
At first, all is black and white. Black on white. That's where I'm walking, through pages. These pages. Sometimes it gets so that I have one foot in the pages and the words, and the other in what they speak of.
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words
pages
speak
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Markus Zusak |
e0a190d
|
The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?
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words
pages
touch
|
Markus Zusak |
e63af64
|
In any of my pages in any of my books may life a perfect account of my secret experience of the world.
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world
books
secret
pages
|
Alberto Manguel |
22ad072
|
Well, this is basically the end, so the answers should be in these next few pages. I doubt they will surprise you, but you never know. I don't know how smart or thick you are. You could be Albert Einstein for all I know, or some literary prizewinner, or maybe you're just middle of the road like me.
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|
answers
middle-of-the-road
pages
smart
end
know
surprise
|
Markus Zusak |
bbd169c
|
But it has often happened that I have found the most seductive depictions of sin in the pages of those very men of incorruptible virtue who condemned their spell and their effects.
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virtue
pages
sin
|
Umberto Eco |
4bc0df9
|
She refused at first, saying it would make a mockery of their love. She loved him too much to admit that what she thought of as unforgettable could ever be forgotten. Finally, of course, she did as he asked, but without enthusiasm. The notebooks showed it: they had many empty pages, and the entries were fragmentary.
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love
fragmentary
unforgettable
pages
forgotten
mockery
|
Milan Kundera |