She tries to wear her pain on the inside. She always has. It__ the trademark of the oldest sibling, I think.
There is an uncharacteristic radicalism to Lewis__ further suggestion that if we can find __ven one reader to whom the cheap little book with its double columns and the lurid daub on its cover had been a lifelong delight, who had read and reread it, who would notice, and object, if a single word were changed, then, however little we could see in it ourselves and however it was despised by our friends and colleagues, we should not dare to put it beyond the pale.
The Magician's Book: A Skeptic's Adventures in Narnia
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There is an uncharacteristic radicalism to Lewis__ further suggestion that if we can find __ven one reader to whom the cheap little book with its double columns and the lurid daub on its cover had been a lifelong delight, who had read and reread it, who would notice, and object, if a single word were changed, then, however little we could see in it ourselves and however it was despised by our friends and colleagues, we should not dare to put it beyond the pale.
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Big events, small, mundane moments of the day__t doesn__ matter; the past will find a way to squeeze into the present__f you let it.
She always used to say that the past is a relentless parasite in its quest, feeding off of the senses, looking for anything that will trigger a memory__orever there to complicate the present, forever there to remind us that it will always be a piece of us. I never had a clue as to what she meant, until now.
The past is a very determined ghost, haunting every chance it gets.
I set my face toward the sun again, and I think about my old life__he one I feel as though I__e abandoned somehow. It hurts to think of it that way. And even though I know it wasn__ perfect, I look back now, and all I see is perfection. Every soft whisper, every spoken word, every gentle touch__t__ all perfect. Time won__ let me see it otherwise. They__e all just perfect memories__erfect, untouchable moments that came and went so softly that they almost feel as if they were always just a dream.
The past isn__ always as beautiful as we paint it in our minds.