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1 " To know our refuse is to know ourselves. We mark our own trail from past to present with what we've used and consumed, fondled, rejected, outgrown. "
― , The Winter Without Milk: Stories
2 " Only now, when it is too late, do I long for Dearth. I was a misbegotten child of bad blood and bile, and I mistook my own orneriness for cleverness. I presumed to know what happiness was - something I could possess, like a marble, or a man. Something I could only find elsewhere. But just when I started to find it at home, I outfoxed myself and lost it forever. "
3 " Even now I'll see her looking at him, her eyes milky yet full of longing, and all he ever gives her is a gentle, absent nod. Perhaps this is the nature of true deprivation - a lifetime of love, tenderly spurned. "